Ripple Effect
by Linkstar
Summary: Xavier's school is under threat of closure. The team is breaking up at the seams, and a new students power may destroy them all...FINAL CHAPTER UPLOADED! Please r r! And epilogue will be uploaded in another week or so.
1. Chapter One

Sebastien didn't know how long he'd been running. His breath hurt in his lungs and his chest felt tight. Rain soaked through his shirt and made his blonde hair cling to his forehead. He knew he couldn't stop, or look back, only that he needed to get as far away from his pursuers as possible.  
  
His ankle bent painfully as he turned into an alleyway, water splashing up as his feet impacted hard with each step. He saw the alley come to a dead end with sickening force just seconds after he heard the sound of his pursuers footsteps splashing louder behind him.  
  
The cold wet brick felt unforgiving and immovable beneath his outstretched palms. His heart began to beat harder in his chest and louder in his ears and he knew they were almost on top of him.  
  
The footsteps behind him slowed, as his pursuers realised there was no need to run anymore. He was trapped, and alone, and the knives and pipes in their hands were going to destroy him.  
  
Slowly, he turned around and faced his attackers: Three of them, wearing army issue brown T shirts, navy pants and Doc Marten boots, all pale and dead eyed with clean shaven heads. They looked at each other with satisfied smiles, tapping their weapons with their free hands like baseball players waiting for their turn on the plate.  
  
Sebastien stared back at them with what he hoped looked like defiance. "Why don't you just get it over with?" He screamed.  
  
The man closest to him, who Sebastien assumed was their leader, smiled indulgently, and his face twisted into an ugly parody of pity. "We don't invest so much time in the chase if we aren't going to enjoy ourselves at the end," he replied simply, like he was teaching a difficult child.  
  
Sebastien wondered if it would make a difference if he tried to run past them, wondered if it would expedite his demise, and make them mad enough to kill him quickly.  
  
No such luck.  
  
The first blow came from the leader of the pack. The steel pipe made a dull, wet thunking sound when it connected with Sebastien's head. Surprisingly, Sebastien did not fall. He could taste blood in his mouth and his head snapped back at a very painful angle when he was struck, but he was still, stubbornly, conscious.  
  
He looked up at the leader of the pack, who held his pipe high, like a baseball bat, and unsure of what to do next. Sebastien's vision was swimming and his head roared pain in his temples, but he was still alive. The leader of the pack lowered his pipe as he met eyes with Sebastien, and he stumbled backwards. The man looked stricken, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. The other two men at his side took this opportunity to inflict some more damage upon their prey. They ran at Sebastien with their implements raised high, crying out like a pack of hungry dogs as their bodies collided with Sebastien's.  
  
Sebastien didn't know how long the ordeal lasted, only that he was struck with blunt and sharp things while he was curled up into a fetal ball. The rain sounded like a thousand drums in his ears and he couldn't hear himself screaming.  
  
His mind was reaching into every nook and cranny of his being, telling him that he must survive. Do anything! Lash out! Make it stop!  
  
Then, he opened his eyes and unfolded his body, even as the men continued to bring down their weapons on him. He made no attempt to shield himself from the blows, but looked up at the nearest man, and stared him in the eye. The man (who held a knife), stared right back, and the arm that held the knife fell to his side. His companion shouted at him to keep going, but the man shook his head and stared straight ahead, mouth agape, and slashed his own wrists. The other man looked from his companion to Sebastien, and Sebastien just stared at him, his arms wrapped around his waist and his eyes projecting hate. His face was dripping with rain and blood.  
  
Sebastien watched as the other man looked for his leader. He was nowhere in sight. He then looked at Sebastien and roared a wordless curse at him, raising his club over his head to bring it down in a swift, final arc.  
  
Sebastien closed his eyes tight and saw stars burst into the darkness. The last man standing was still roaring at him, but it sounded like he was very far away. Sebastien felt his stomach lurch and his body went slack. Amazingly, he could still hear as he slipped into unconsciousness: The sound of wet bodies making violent contact, the sound of a pipe clattering to the ground, and then, a sound he'd never heard before. It sounded metal sliding against metal, but muted and too quick to be the sound of knives sliding together:  
  
"snikt"  
  
  
  
ONE  
  
It had been raining for days.  
  
It was the kind of rain that looked like a solid mass of misery rather than a light shower. The TV weather men all cheerfully proclaimed that the rain would subside "in the next few days", but Ororo Munroe knew differently. The rain could go in a snap of her fingers, and the sun would come out and everyone would stop complaining.  
  
But Ororo loved the rain. She loved the feel of it on her skin and the way it cleansed everything. Sometimes she would call up the rain just because she missed it, but the people around her would just grumble and groan. So she promised them that she would only deliberately call down the rain in the woods, on her own, away from the mansion. She had to swear to everyone that the downpour of the last few days was not of her design, and a naturally occurring weather pattern. She didn't think they believed her.  
  
She sat atop the bell tower on the roof of the mansion, which was home to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, where she had lived for most of her adult life. The smell of wet grass and damp skin intoxicated her, and filled her heart with limitless joy. Even the smell of wet cement was pleasant to her on a good rainy day.  
  
She inhaled deeply and slid off her perch before disappearing into a little wooden trapdoor set into the wooden floor of the bell tower, and descended a long spiraling staircase that led to a tastefully decorated hallway with a highly polished floor. She could see her reflection in the floor, in a glistening honey colour. Her dark skin and white hair looked somehow caramelized beneath her feet. She smiled at it and continued down the hallway, listening to the rain fall outside, and feeling content.  
  
"We have to call the police," she heard someone's voice say, from an opened door ahead. "For all we know, he could be..."  
  
"What? A criminal?" The other voice was harsh, and low, and Ororo smiled to herself as she appeared in the open doorway and leaned against the door frame.  
  
The owner of the first voice, a tall, well proportioned man with a serious face, obscured by deep crimson lensed glasses, had his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw muscles bulged. He looked up and regarded Ororo with a warm smile. The other man, a shorter, darker and older looking man, looked up as well. His expression softened and he walked towards her. "You can talk to him," he said with a sneer. "I've had enough."  
  
Ororo moved and let her friend pass. She put her hand on his broad, muscled shoulder, and looked at him pleadingly. "Logan..." She said his name like it was all she needed to say.  
  
He gently shrugged her hand off. He looked back into the room with a frown. Then he stormed off. Ororo moved into the room towards The taller man. "What was all that about, Scott?"  
  
Scott Summers grimaced. He was a handsome man, and he had perfect teeth, and at that moment he looked like a Ken doll. He regarded Ororo's purple dress clinging to her body, and quickly met her eyes again. (At least she was almost sure he was making eye contact; the reflective glasses made it hard to tell.)  
  
"The boy that Logan dragged in here," he replied with a sigh. He sat down on a nearby couch in the large common room, and ran a hand through his shiny brown hair. "I mean, he can't just expect us to take this kid in, no questions asked. We have to ascertain who he is, find out if he has a home and family to go to..." He sighed again and threw up his hands, like the boy was his sole responsibility.  
  
"I understand Charles is trying to dig up what he can," Ororo said, as she sat on the edge of the nearby coffee table. "How is that going?"  
  
"There's only so much Charles can do until the kid regains consciousness. You know how he feels about using his powers on an unwilling or unconscious subject."  
  
Ororo nodded. Charles Xavier was indeed a man of principles, sometimes stubbornly so. "Surely the boy can stay here until he is recovered."  
  
"Well, there's no doubt about that. But lately, the school has had a lot of unwanted attention, and the last thing we need is..."  
  
Ororo held up a hand. She knew only too well of the problems the school had endured. Recently, a boy came to the school after running away from home. The boy was scared that no one would take him in after he almost killed one of his classmates just by touching him. The other boy's skin burned and charred like it was on fire, and spent more than half the year in intensive care. Apparently, the boy's father had locked him in the basement after dousing him with ice water, to "fix him up." He showed up at the school fearing his life. Charles Xavier took him in without the need for further explanation, and began to teach the boy how to harness his power so that he could have the semblance of a normal life.  
  
Somehow, the father became aware of his son's whereabouts, and made it known to every media outlet in close vicinity that the school abducted and brainwashed his son. Charles Xavier and his students soon found themselves thrust into the harsh glare of scrutiny, and Charles very publicly defended his school and its mission, without ever fully giving away the details of its true purpose.  
  
Ororo shuddered as she remembered how the authorities came to the school to take the child away, brandishing guns and with news cameras trailing in their wake. The images of the dawn raid were front page items on every major daily, and the top story on the news at six. The image used mostly, was of Logan standing before the boy, legs apart, his eyebrows knitted, daring the armour clad commandos to come at him. The boy could be seen cowering like a frightened rabbit, his hands over his ears and his ears shut tight. Ororo could understand Logan's anger, and his indignation at his home being raided.  
  
Now the school was under investigation by two separate bodies, both trying to ascertain whether it should be shut down or more closely monitored. It was no wonder everyone was tense.  
  
"...And Logan can't just assume he can drag some kid in off the streets and have our okay! There are certain procedures, Storm..."  
  
Ororo knew Scott was using her code name because he was being defensive. It made anything he said sound like a command.  
  
"I'm sure Logan knows what the rules are, Scott," she replied mildly. "He just chooses to ignore them." She smiled at him and stood up. "And he couldn't have just left the boy..."  
  
"Now you're starting to sound like him."  
  
She sighed. Sometimes she could understand Logan's frustration at Scott. He was simply too stubborn and inflexible, and he was afraid of straying from the path. She left the room with a little wave, and re entered the hallway. The whole place was too quiet; most of the students were off campus or in their dorms watching movies. Rainy days were really not conducive for learning.  
  
"Ororo."  
  
Storm spun around to see Jean Grey emerging from a nearby oak panelled door. Jean was a tall, white skinned and flame red haired woman, and she was also everything Ororo was not: Authoritive, in control, and a living doll in the eyes of most men. Ororo always felt slightly ill at ease whenever she stood near Jean, but she admired her greatly. She trusted her life with Jean, and she hoped Jean did the same. Jean smiled as she reached Ororo's side. Jean was also a telepath, and knew exactly what Ororo was thinking, but said nothing to her friend's (misguided) insecurity. Instead, she said, "I probably shouldn't ask if this rain is your doing."  
  
"Not if you want to find out what its like to be hit by a lightning bolt."  
  
Jean laughed softly and shrugged. "The students have come to the conclusion that they should bribe you to make it stop."  
  
They began walking together down the corridor. Jean was holding a manilla folder in one hand and a cell phone in the other. "Charles just called to tell me how the negotiations are going," she said, holding the phone up with a smile. "He's going to keep me informed, but I have to check up on our mystery house guest now."  
  
Ororo knew that the phone was superfluous when it came to two telepaths communicating, but she said nothing. "Charles thinks it would be wiser if he kept his communications to a more...usual medium," Jean said, as she heard Ororo thinking. "Some people might see it as colluding with his mutant flunkies. That is the last thing we need."  
  
Ororo nodded. Charles was meeting with representatives from one of the independent committees looking into the school's operations, to head of a full investigation. He'd left for Washington earlier that day, and as far as anyone could see, he would be there for quite some time. "So how is the boy?"  
  
Jean sighed in response. They reached the elevator doors, which were shiny and reflective, and Jean punched a code into a keypad set into the wall beside it. The keypad let out a little beep and the sound of the elevator cables humming could be heard. They watched the numbers above the door illuminate green in ascending order, and neither spoke for a few seconds. Jean fixed her green eyes on Ororo, then, and asked, "Were they fighting in there?" Her face was like that of a child awaiting punishment. She bit her lower lip.  
  
Ororo smiled. "They had a small disagreement over procedure."  
  
Jean's expression hardened then. "Which is to say they were fighting. Again."  
  
"Logan and Scott will never see eye to eye, Jean. You above all should know that."  
  
Jean nodded as the doors slid open before them. They entered the little space before them and Jean punched the button marked 'MED LAB', and the elevator began to glide down. "They think alike, sometimes," Jean said. She was staring ahead of her, not really looking at anything.  
  
Ororo incline her head. She did know what Jean was saying - it was hard not to notice that Logan and Scott's clashes had more to do with matters of the heart than anything else. Scott was protective of Jean, and their bond was strong, but Ororo could tell something compelled Jean towards Logan, even though Scott and Jean were due to marry in the near future. "And this boy seems to have given them a reason to get on each other's nerves. They do tend to look for the slightest reason to argue."  
  
Jean nodded. Ororo was right. Logan and Scott needed to have conflict to relate to each other. They were polar opposites, and could find no common ground between them, except for their love of the same woman.  
  
The elevator doors slid open and Jean tried to push all wayward thoughts from her mind, which was easier said than done for a telepath, and they entered the cool white sterility of the med lab.  
  
They approached the only occupied bed in the lab, and Jean opened the file. Ororo leaned over the boy's sleeping face to look at him. He was handsome, and looked almost angelic with his shiny blonde hair. Ororo touched his forehead lightly and prayed that this boy would find where he belonged. "What do we know about him?" She asked Jean in a whisper.  
  
Jean sighed in response. "Some kind of trauma triggered the coma," she said with an air of detachment, as she consulted a monitor beside the bed. "But for the life of me, I can't figure out what sort of trauma that was. Every test I've run so far has told me nothing, except that he is a perfectly fit, healthy young man."  
  
Ororo straightened, then folded her arms over her chest. "Have we checked the missing persons database for a match?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Have you spoken to Logan about the night he brought the boy in?"  
  
Jean sighed again. "Not yet. I think Scott's interrogation was thorough enough. But I do know Logan didn't tell Scott the full story."  
  
Jean jotted something in the folder and placed in on the metal cabinet beside the bed. "I can tell you, I've been tempted to see if I can go in and pull this kid out of the coma, or at least find out who he is."  
  
Ororo nodded. The frustrations of the past weeks were starting to show on Jean's face. Dark circles were starting to form under her eyes.  
  
"I don't think Charles would approve of it, though."  
  
Jean shrugged. Charles had warned her about invading another person's mind if they are unwilling or unable to give consent. And she understood his reasoning behind it, and it was for those reasons that she resisted. Her powers of telepathy were not as advanced as Charles', and it sometimes scared her to know that one day she would be as powerful as him. Even know she heard the random thoughts of the pupils in the dorms above them, and it took her a great deal of discipline to shut them out to a dull background noise, like a radio searching for a channel.  
  
"I think this kid is one of us," Jean said as she leaned in and checked his pulse. Her red hair fell over her face as she did so.  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
"I guess its more of a feeling than anything else. He may not be aware of it himself yet, but I am definitely picking up some...I don't know....Energy patterns...Emanating from him."  
  
""How old do you think he is?"  
  
"At a guess I'd say between sixteen and eighteen. Just about the right time for mutant powers to start surfacing."  
  
"Logan said he was being attacked by a bunch of skinheads. Maybe they saw his power manifesting...." Ororo didn't want to finish the sentence. The sheer revulsion of such an act made her shudder. From the sounds of things, the skinheads were most likely a part of a dangerous fringe group calling themselves The Friends of Humanity. The group was slowly growing and had become a rising political power, especially in the south. The Friends of Humanity preached purity and goodness to the masses by way of denouncing those different from them. Mutants, homosexuals, Asians, blacks and Russians were all damned and impure and would burn in the fires of hell for eternity. They had the ears of politicians, the clergy and, most scary of all, the media.  
  
"If he is a mutant, and he doesn't know about it, then we have an obligation to help him."  
  
Jean nodded, gravely. "Logan did the right thing," she said softly, touching the boy's forehead one more time. Then she smiled at Ororo. "But don't tell him I said that."  
  
  
  
Logan sniffed at the air as he walked towards the pond just behind the mansion. The rain was now just a gentle drizzle, and felt almost warm on his skin. The earth smelled swollen with moisture, and the air was thick with a musty, sweet fragrance. The pond's surface was still being disturbed by the steadily falling rain, and it looked as if the body of water was shivering. Logan looked down at his distorted reflection in the surface, and sat on the edge, where the reeds were growing tallest.  
  
He often came out here when he felt like Cyclops was looking for a reason for him to slit his throat. Slitting your team leader's throat wasn't really the done thing in civilised society, but who ever said Logan was civilised. Jean once said he was "barely house trained", and it made him smile. In a way, Xavier's school was giving him a reason to rejoin the rest of the world, and allowing him to do it with relative anonymity. Well, as much anonymity as one without a past could have.  
  
Charles Xavier was a decent man in Logan's eyes, and he believed the man when he promised to help him fill in the blanks about his life. Charlie Xavier knew how hard it was for Logan to remember anything from even ten years ago, and it concerned Xavier that neither he nor Jean could fully delve into Logan's mind; whoever screwed with his head and erased his past must have done a bang up job if the most powerful telepath in the world couldn't penetrate it. But they were making progress, and it taxed both Logan and Xavier to retrieve even the simplest memory or snippet of one.  
  
Logan broke off a reed and ran his fingers along its edge. His thick black hair was clinging to his face cheeks and forehead, and there was no other sound out there except his own breathing. He looked out over the surface of the pond and caught a whiff of a familiar perfume; it smelled like jasmine and citrus, and it was everything that was sweet with the world. He knew Jean was approaching behind him, and he was impressed that he hadn't heard her approach. Must be letting his guard down. "Did fearless leader send you out here, Jean? See what else I ain't tellin' him?" Logan said. He did not turn around. She was standing directly behind him.  
  
"How could you tell it was me?"  
  
"One of the draw backs of having an acute sense of smell is that you can identify someone just by their scent."  
  
"Do I have a distinctive smell?"  
  
"Everyone does. You mask yours with perfume and deodorant. But there's no masking it."  
  
Jean knelt beside him but he still refused to look at her. "Scott didn't send me out here. I haven't spoken to him all morning, but I know about your argument."  
  
"Eavesdropping again?"  
  
"Its hard to keep anything from a telepath."  
  
Logan smiled, but still didn't turn around. Jean touched his shoulder lightly and tilted her head to look at his face. Unlike Scott, Logan had a very blunt, rough face, which was not unattractive. His eyes alone told the story of his time on this world, and how long that was, nobody knew. Not even him. At times he seemed to have limitless energy and vitality, then he would crash and burn, and nobody would want tot get in his way. His mutant ability to heal wounds rapidly came in handy when he was on a mission, but there is no healing factor for the soul. Logan search for himself was causing him more pain than any external wound, and Jean wished there was more she could do for him.  
  
"Summers don't understand what it's like to be unwanted," Logan growled, pushing his knuckles hard into the cool wet earth. "That puts him out of touch with the rest of us here. He thinks leadership is about ego, and it ain't. It's the complete opposite."  
  
"Scott never got the chance to feel unwanted. His parents were killed in an accident when he and his brother were young. Charles took him in, and Scott has always tried to be the best he can be, to prove himself worthy Charles' approval."  
  
Logan sighed. "Still don't make him a nice person."  
  
"Is this more about you and Scott than the welfare of the boy?"  
  
"You know me, any excuse to get into an argument with Cyclops. He could do me some real damage. If he tried."  
  
Jean let out a breath and hooked her arm around Logan's. "Nothing has been the same since you moved into the school, you know that?"  
  
Logan turned his head and breathed in her scent like it was the smell of his sweetest memories, and put a hand on her head. Her cheek rested on his broad shoulder and his roughened hand looked so odd compared with her shiny, smooth beauty. "Yeah," he replied. "I think I'm starting to get it."  
  
  
  
Bobby Drake leaned against a wall and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared ahead of him, through a huge one way mirror. On the other side was a large, cylindrical room that the students trained in to hone their mutant abilities. Xavier Apparently had the room's walls re enforced with titanium alloy and cement, and built it so far underground that not even the largest explosion would be noticed anywhere else. The kids affectionately called it the "Danger Room" and the name stuck. Xavier preferred that they call it the "training centre" to add a bit of legitimacy to it, but even he called it the Danger Room now.  
  
It was here that Bobby was able to unleash his mutant power to freeze the air around him, and even transform his body into living ice, and since those first few awkward times, he had reached a stage where he was able to concentrate his power and manipulate it, and use it in a battle type situation. Xavier was harder on his students in the Danger Room than with their theoretical assignments; "In the real world, you won't have the chance to do a make up exam."  
  
Some of the pupils used the Danger Room as an avenue of release when the world was treating them harshly. Others used it to get in shape. Bobby watched now as two students faced off against one another; the first, a lanky boy with a floppy blonde haircut, whose name was Sam Guthrie, a nice guy with a southern drawl you could tar a road with, and Jonathon Starsmore, an English boy who preferred to keep to himself on account of the missing lower half of his face. Just beneath his nose, his face exploded into raw energy which looked not unlike an electrical fire. His deep brown hair fell in limp tendrils over his eyes, which were locked on Guthrie with fierce anticipation. If Bobby were going to bet on the outcome of this match, he'd put his money on Starsmore, who liked to call himself "Chamber".  
  
Guthrie leapt into the air as Starsmore projected his energy towards him, then, as he flipped in the air, he let his power loose and the lower half of his body turned into something that resembled the propulsion jet on the back of a plane. This sent Guthrie hurtling towards Starsmore with his fists outstretched before him. Starsmore took the blow in the stomach and they both went crashing straight into the wall behind them. The window before Bobby shook. Bobby leaned closer to see if they were okay, and saw the pair of them in a twisted heap against the wall.  
  
Starmore's voice - which was projected from his conscious thought rather than his mouth, which didn't really exist - echoed inside Bobby's head. "Was that completely necessary, Guthrie?" His English accent was clipped and harsh.  
  
"Nope," Guthrie replied breathlessly, as he pulled himself up on his elbows. "Ah can't control the direction of muh power once I start up. At least, not yet. The professor's helpin' me get a handle on it."  
  
Starsmore stood up, and brushed off the lapels of his black vinyl jacket. It was made from the same material as his pants. "Just pray you get a handle on it before Xavier sends you out on a mission. That sort of undirected attack will land us all in trouble."  
  
"Ah am tryin', Chamber! But it ain't easy. I gotta really concentrate to control it. You wouldn't know anythin' about it."  
  
Chamber glared at Guthrie. His eyes were hollow, like a scarecrow's. "I'd know quite a lot about self control, Guthrie. Like having to keep an explosion of energy contained in one's body when all it wants to do is burst out? Like having to ensure that your power doesn't rip open the other half of your head? That is what I call concentration, mate. You just have to point yourself in the right direction."  
  
Chamber walked off without a glance behind him. Bobby descended a flight of metal stairs and approached the thick metal doors that closed off the Danger Room, just as Chamber was exiting. "Don't you think you were being a little hard on him?" He said. Chamber regarded him with a raised eyebrow- one of the few facial expressions he could actually pull off.  
  
"No. I think he was being an idiot."  
  
Bobby sighed. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Chamber a frown. "Give him a break. He hasn't been here that long and he's still learning. You're his training buddy. You should be encouraging him."  
  
"I did not ask to be stuck babysitting some hick who can't control his powers."  
  
Chamber walked away from Bobby and Bobby entered the Danger Room with a sigh. Sam Guthrie was toweling himself off. His hair was damp with perspiration. He looked up as Bobby approached. His baby face was troubled. "That guy gives me the creeps," he said, motioning towards the general direction of Chamber's departure. "And he's not a real good teacher."  
  
Bobby shrugged and smiled. "He's just uptight. It's the British upbringing."  
  
"Ah think he hates me."  
  
Bobby put a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam was probably right. Chamber probably did hate him, and everyone else at the school. He even resented Professor Xavier and the X-men for wanting to help him. Bobby could only guess at what he'd been through. Maybe his anger was justified.  
  
"Don't worry about him. Let's go get some lunch."  
  
  
  
"Professor Xavier. Please take a seat."  
  
The moment he looked up from the paper in his hands, Robert Frost knew he'd put his foot in it. Charles Xavier wheeled himself into the office in a motorised wheelchair. His smooth scalp shone in the fluorescent light and he had an amused look on his face. "I don't think that will be a problem, Mr. Frost."  
  
Frost stood bolt upright and raised his hands in a gesture of contrition. "Professor, I am so sorry..."  
  
Xavier held up a hand. "It's perfectly fine, Mr. Frost."  
  
"Call me Robert."  
  
"I'd like to thank you for meeting me on such short notice, Robert. I hope our meeting can resolve some of the concerns we all have."  
  
Frost smiled in response, and there was a trace of apprehension to it. Even meeting with Xavier was venturing into hazardous territory these days, and he didn't want to even think about what the other members of the committee would say. But there was something about Xavier and his School that struck a chord with Frost. He'd seen many exceptional Schools doing great work in his time with the department of education, and he'd also seen some of the worst. He'd talked to headmasters who'd just given up, and walked walked through schools that had fallen into disrepair, but Charles Xavier had always seemed so fiercely protective of his students and proud of his school. The school itself was breathtaking; a sprawling mansion sitting on a huge, well attended property on the outskirts of Westchester, New York. And he had spoken to Xavier a few times over the phone, seen his face on the television, and had no idea that the guy was in a wheelchair. His cheeks burned as he spoke. "I would appreciate your discretion regarding this meeting, professor."  
  
Xavier nodded solemnly. "You have my word. And please, call me Charles."  
  
"If it wasn't for your reputation I don't think you would have even got this far."  
  
"I can count my blessings and my friends in high places." Xavier said with a smile.  
  
Frost gave a little nod to Xaviers gentle humour. He rested his clasped hands on the manila folder in front of him, and his face suddenly switched to "all business mode".  
  
"But this is a very serious matter Charles, and I'm afraid it's not going to go away."  
  
"I'm not asking for the matter to be swept under the carpet. Just that I get a balanced investigation into the school, and not a witch hunt."  
  
"Nobody wants that."  
  
Xavier gave Frost a "you know better" look. Frost leaned back in his leather chair, and it squeaked musically. "Let's talk about the boy at the centre of this mess," he went on, slowly. "Dane Williams shows up at your school with bruises all over his body."  
  
"Thats right. He told me his father was responsible, and that he was scared. I did not think twice about taking the boy in."  
  
"A compassionate gesture on your part."  
  
"Any right minded person would have done the same thing."  
  
Frost nodded and breathed heavily through his nostrils. Frost looked older than his forty years at that moment, his forehead creased into a frown. His dark hair was beginning to show flecks of grey and his whole body looked like it had been all but but drained of its youth already. Xavier tried hard not to listen to the man's thoughts before he spoke. "Thats true enough, professor, but it would also occur to a right minded person to call the police as well. It baffles me why you didn't."  
  
Xavier let out a sigh. "The local police have been less than helpful with similar situation in the past. They seem to only respond when there is a complaint about the school's activities."  
  
"Okay. Let's put that aside for a moment and concentrate on a much larger issue: Did the boy ask to leave the premises on any occasion after that?"  
  
"You mean, did I keep him against his will? Of course not! All my students are free to leave at any time."  
  
Frost held up his hands in response. "Sorry. I just had to ask. The boy's father has been quite adamant about it."  
  
"The boy's father is a violent drunkard who inflicted serious wounds on his son. I cannot believe that anyone is taking him seriously." Xavier was getting frustrated. Frost was just playing devil's advocate, not really listening but throwing up questions. Xavier knew this man wanted to help, and he didn't want to break any rules doing it. Sometimes its the people who sit back and do nothing that can cause serious damage.  
  
"The sad fact is, people do take things like this seriously. And if the committee finds that any of the allegations made by him are true, then I'm afraid Xavier's school may be forced to close."  
  
  
  
Detective Vic Morgan blew smoke out through his nostrils and looked at the ambulance officer with ice green eyes that unnerved even the hardest criminals. The man had just told him how they found two men dead and another a screaming mess. The first man had apparently thrown himself in front of oncoming traffic, according to several witnesses, and the second had slashed his own wrists. The third man was found in a fetal ball, yelling and squealing like he was possessed. He had tried to throw himself out of the ambulance and it took three officers to properly restrain him. It was no secret that all three men were part of the Friends of Humanity, or one of it's fringe groups, and all kinds of pressure was now on Morgan to get to the bottom of the incident ASAP.  
  
"The one who survived, none of what he said made sense," The ambulance officer said, and looked from side to side. He was young, but his eyes told the world they had seen too much. He smoked a cigarette that Morgan had offered, and his blue uniform shirt and black jacket marked him as a saviour. As he spoke, he watched the ambulances pull up into the bay, nodded at some of the officers wheeling gurneys into the ER, then looked back at Morgan. "He was ranting about the scourges of humanity, that the freaks had taken control, that a new world order will come, and cleanse the planet...Yadda yadda, and so forth. Since there was nothing physically wrong with him, there was only so much we could do. But he was threatening to kill himself when we weren't looking, so we bundled him off to psych ward on suicide watch."  
  
Morgan scratched his chin, grunted. His square, unshaven jaw and blunt features made him look more like a hitman than a detective with the NYPD. For thirty eight, looked good. But he was only thirty one. He ran a hand over his close cropped brown hair, and flicked his cigarette butt away. "I don't suppose he's still here?" He asked.  
  
The ambulance officer shook his head. "Not anymore. We only hold 'em for twenty four hours, usually."  
  
Morgan nodded, and swore. The ambulance officer noticed his agitated look, and gave him a half smile. "Policy. He calmed down after a few hours. They had one of the psychologists look at him, and he seemed satisfied that this guy wasn't going to off himself, so they discharged him to free up some more space."  
  
"And what did you think?"  
  
The other man sighed and shrugged. "A lot of his type cross my path, detective Morgan, and I have learned not to make any assumptions and just do my best to help them." He sighed again, this time louder, and Morgan could see anger in his eyes. "These Friends of Humanity guys are no better then Nazis. They sicken me. If it were up to me, I'd have left him there to kill himself. But my opinions don't count much 'round here."  
  
Morgan nodded. "What do you know about a boy they were chasing? Was he there when all this went down?"  
  
Another shrug. "We showed up, scraped one guy off the road, bundled another into a body bag and restrained the only one left alive. The poor kid probably ran as far and as fast as he could. It isn't hard to imagine why they were chasing him." There was real disgust in his voice.  
  
Morgan didn't need to join the dots on the other man's anger. Morgan had seen it many times, on the faces of those used to being on the receiving end of violence and hatred. He'd seen it on the faces of young black prostitutes, old Asian shopkeepers, and gay men. In Morgan's eyes, this man's anger was not only justified, but understandable. Morgan thanked him for his time, shook his hand, commended him on his good work. He was met with a weary smile and a similar commendation, and he walked back to his car, thinking about the story that was slowly emerging in his case notes. And the questions were mounting:  
  
Why did one man throw himself in front of a moving vehicle?  
  
Why did another slit his own wrists?  
  
What stopped the third from following suit?  
  
And, most importantly, what happened to the boy they were pursuing through the streets only moments before? Did he meet a grisly end at his own hand, or at the hands of the unfortunate zealots?  
  
Too many things did not add up. Nobody saw what happened between the boy and the other men, even if twenty people were standing around at the time. New Yorkers have temporary blindness when it comes to certain things, because they don't want to become involved. Morgan opened his car door and sat with his hands on the steering wheel for a long time, just trying to get his bearings. Where could he go from here? The hospital records did not yield a name or address for the third zealot, and the boy seemed like a dead end. He pulled his notebook out of his pocket and scrutinised his random jotting like they were written in a dead language. The ink ran in places where rain splashed onto the paper, and coffee stains obscured the pages even more. The only person he could talk to had just walked out of hospital and may as well have burrowed into a haystack.  
  
He rested his chin on the steering wheel and watched as a light shower assaulted the windscreen. He tried to think: where would a fringe dwelling zealot go to hide? Surely he wouldn't run straight to The Friends of Humanity for help? The Friend of Humanity had a compound Not far out of Westchester, on a sprawling acreage enclosed by huge brick walls. And they didn't like visitors.  
  
Morgan considered his options for a few more seconds, and straightened in his seat. He gripped the steering wheel more tightly and started the car. 


	2. Chapter two

TWO  
  
Logan wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and it came away glistening with a film of sweat. He looked up and frowned at Bobby. "Dont make me hurt ya, boy," growled. Bobby swallowed and shifted from foot to foot, unsure of what to do next. Sweat covered his face, too, and dripped from his fringe into his eyes. He weighed up his options: If he ran, Logan would catch him. If he played possum, Logan would be onto him in an instant. And he dismissed the idea of charging him head on as foolish to the point of suicidal. Logan was moving closer to him, slowly and with purpose. Bobby shifted so that Logan was always facing him directly, but soon realised that Logan had manouvered so that the sun shone directly into his eyes. Bobby sheilded his eyes with his palm outsretched, and realised that Logan had moved directly behind him in the meantime. He felt cool menace as Logan reached out and grabbed his shoulder, and knew that it would be all over if he didnt do something....  
The air was ripped with a distinct cracking noise, and a fine mist rose from the ground around Logans feet. Logan looked down to see a sheet of ice spreading underneath him, just seconds before he slipped onto his back with the sound that wet meat would make if it hit a patch of ice. Bobby tore away from him and leapt into the air to slam dunk the basketball through the hoop. The small group of students watching from the sidelines cheered their approval, and Bobby took a deep bow in their direction. "And they said it couldnt be done!"  
"That," Logan said, from the other end of the court. "Was cheating."  
The audience booed and hissed. Logan regarded them all with a stern frown. Bobby grinned at him. He took his shirt off and wiped his face with it. "Hey, I just used my powers to facilitate attaining my goals, old man."  
Logan grimaced. "Someone's been listening to Cyclops," He teased. "And beside, how would you feel if I popped my claws and sliced that hoop of its pole?" Logan held up his clenched fist and three long, metal claws popped from the back of his hand.   
"I'd say you were a sore loser," Bobby replied, "Or a bad winner. Whichever way you look at it." He shrugged, and strolled away from the court, to the appreciative whoops of the already dwindling audience. Logan smiled at the boy's bravado, but he knew Bobby was scared when he popped his claws. He brought his hand up and his claws retracted back under his skin.   
He looked up at an empty basketball court.  
"You're good with them."  
Cyclops stood just beyond the gate, looking through the wire fence at him. Logan walked towards him slowly, and retrieved the towel that hung over the top of the gate. He wiped his face and rubbed it over his chest and flat belly, then hung it around his neck. "Yeah, well, I'm good at somethin' round here."  
"They respect you. That will come in handy when it comes to battle training."  
Xavier had enlisted Logan's help to train the students in hand to hand combat, stealth manouvering and various defensive and offensive tactics. He was due to take a group of twenty students at the end of the semester, after Cyclops' course on using mutant powers effectively. Unlike Cyclops, Logan did not need to prove himself worthy of admiration-he figured you either had respect and admiration or you didnt. There's no use fighting for something that wasnt even there to begin with. But Xavier was impressed that Logan could reach even the most difficult students after one meeting; Logan was the only person Chamber spoke to with anything appraoching respect.  
Logan began the walk back to the mansion with Cyclops behind him. "Jean thinks the men who attacked your boy were attached to The Friends of Humanity," Cyclops said.  
Logan nodded. "Thought they looked the type."  
"If thats the case, we need to tighten security around the mansion. They've known about the school for some time, and now they have reason enough to come knocking on our doors."  
"They should get outta the business if they get upset over every little hanger-on stupid enough to walk in front of a bus."  
"I'm serious. Two men are dead. One is missing, gone underground for all we know, and right now we're very vunerable. They might see an opportunity, Logan."  
Logan stopped and looked over his shoulder at Cyclops. "We can handle it."  
They began walking again. Cyclops was beside Logan now, and his face was shadowing his concerns without really reflecting much. Logan's calm response was not appropriate, and he didnt feel that a flippant reaction was called for, and he said so.  
Logan kept walked, without so much as a hitch in his stride. "I've not encountered an enemy stupid enough to take their attack right into unfamiliar territory," He said, squinting into the sun for a second. "They dont know whats waiting for them inside the grounds, and we have a distinct advantage. The rest writes itself."  
  
  
  
  
Detective Morgan waited in a tastefully appointed office, his sunglasses dangling from his hand from between his knees. The carpet was plush red, the desk polished oak; it screamed of taxpayer-funded extravangance. On the walls hung framed black and white prints of groups of men with sombre expressions and drab suits. Most looked as if they were taken in the 1950's.   
He hooked one ankle sround the other and sighed as he settled into his comfortable chair. The secretary outside had told him his wait would last no longer than ten minutes, and that was twenty minutes ago. He tucked his glasses into his jacket pocket and rubbed his palms flat on is thighs. It was like waiting in the principals office.  
A door opened and Morgan stood as Graydon Creed, the leader of the Friends of Humanity, entered the room. Creed was a tall, solid man of about 30, whose eyes were intense, and his face looked as though it had been carved from granite. His brown hair was cropped military short. Creed had the charisma of a leader and the looks of a football star. It was an unbeatable combination, and people flocked to him in droves.  
Morgan accepted Creed's hand and shook it before sitting back down. Creed walked around his desk. "My secreatry tells me you've been waiting for some time," He said with a deep, resonant voice as he sat. "My apologies. I'm afraid you give up any chance of having free time when you decide to enter public life."  
"I appreciate you taking the time to see me," Morgan said, with more warmth than he felt. "I wouldnt be here if it wasnt important."  
Creed smiled with a mouthful of perfectly white teeth. "Of course. And I realise you are a busy man, too. So lets cut to the chase, as it were. What can I help you with?"  
Morgan shifted in his seat and produced his notepad, although he'd already rehearsed his speil on the way over. The notepad just made it look official. He glanced up and asked, "Does the name John Klyne mean anything to you?"  
Creed frowned and leaned foward. He rubbed his chin for a few seconds, then shook his head, slowly. "Cant say it does, detective."  
Morgan cleared his throat, then continued. "What about James Travis?"  
Again the Creed head shake, full of polite concern. "No. I meet so many people every day, and its hard to recall all of them."  
Morgan nodded, but kept his face blank. "Both men died last night, appparently by their own hands. They were both identified as members of the Friends of Humanity, and Their families have told police that they visited your party headquarters in Westchester, and left after a meeting that you held."  
Something flashed in Creed's eyes, and his smile changed from a congenial one to a sad, strained one. "Oh, my. That's terrible. And you are investigating their deaths?"  
"Thats right."  
"But I thought you said they took their own lives?"  
"Yes sir, thats right."  
"But why is a homicide detective investigating their deaths?"  
Morgan flipped through the pages of his notepad for effect. "First of all, can you confirm their attendance at your meeting?"  
Creed shrugged. "We have so many members, its hard to keep track of....I dont know, but maybe we can have a look at our security tapes, see who showed up, ask around. Its such a terrible tragedy when people take their own lives...."  
"Would you also know of a Jeremiah Blacksmith, Mr. Creed?"  
Creed's eyes flashed again, and he nodded. "I do know of Jeremiah. Good boy, clean christian boy. He heads up our Young Friends of Humanity chapter." Creed's jaw bulged. "Is he... Did he..."  
Morgan held up a hand. "At present time, we do not know where Jeremiah is. We were wondering if he turned up at your compound?"  
Creed shook his head. "No, he hasnt. In fact, we were getting worried. He didnt show up for our weekly youth issues meeting, and it did concern me. He's usually such a responsible boy."  
"He may have witnessed what happened to the other boys. Its important that we speak with him. Do you have a number, an address, something, that we could contact his parents with?"  
"I can certainly try."  
  
***  
  
Rain pelted down on his face, and he had the momentary feeling of weightlessness as strong, muscular arms scooped him up. His cheek was pressed up against a wet shirt and he could hear ragged breathing rolling in and out like the tide. He could smell wet skin and the slight sourness of sweat. He felt safe and warm, and he felt like he could sleep forever....But there was something he was forgetting.   
Of course. Where were his manners?  
His voice came out soft and small, and sounded like it was far away. "Thank you."  
A voice that sounded like a contained growl responded: "Don't mention it."  
  
  
Sebastien opened his eyes to harsh flourescent light, and brought his hand up to his face to block it out. He groaned and licked his lips, which tasted slightly of copper. His head pounded and felt like throwing up.  
"You're awake."  
Sebastien lowered his hand and blinked rapidly at the red headed woman leaning toward him. She smiled and patted his hand before checking his temperature and checking his chart. "Are...Are you a doctor? Am I in a hospital?" He asked, and looked around the stark, sterile room with apprehension.  
"You're not in a hospital," She said soothingly, and propped him up with a few pillows so he could take hus surroundings in. "But I am a doctor."  
"You dont look like a doctor."  
She laughed softly.   
"So, where am I?"  
"A safe place."  
His eyes suddenly shot wide open, and his body stiffened. "Those other guys--"  
"They're gone."  
"--They were gonna kill me!"  
She put a hand on his forehead and nodded. "They arent here. One of our people brought you here. He saved your life."  
She lifted his upper lid with a thumb and shone a little torch light into his eye. "I can remember seeing someone jump in front of me, then...Nothing....."  
She was jotting something on a clipboard. "You were unconcious when Logan brought you here."  
Jean put the clipboard down and crossed her arms over her chest. A smile tugged at the sides of her mouth as she looked at him. "I'm sorry. I havent asked your name."  
"Sebastien."  
"I'm Jean Grey."  
He frowned for an instant, and tilted his head towards her. "So you're the person who was trying to get into my head."  
"Pardon?"  
"While I was asleep, I could feel something try to push its way inside my dreams, and all I could hear was this sort of buzz that sounded like someone was talking to me from miles away. It was your voice."  
Jean felt a flush of embarrassment. Time to change topics, fast. "Are you hungry?"  
"Starving. So, was it you?"  
"It could have been my voice you heard. Some people can hear converations going on around them even if they are in deep comas...."  
Sebastien smiled, then. His jaw hurt like hell. "Maybe thats it," He said. "But I know what it felt like."  
  
  
Logan looked into his coffee, stirring it slowly and watching his partial reflection ripple and reform. He was thinking about Cyclops' warning about the Friends of Humanity, and he was running the worst case scenario in his minds eye. It wasnt pretty. His only concern in any eventuality was the protection of the kids. He gave his word to Xavier that he would protect his students by any means necesary. It was clear to him why Xavier came to him with this request and not to Cyclops: Cyclops could not worry about the team and the kids at the same time.  
Xavier had gathered as much information about the Friends of Humanity and Graydon Creed as he could, and Logan felt sure they were doing the same. Know thy enemy.  
"Logan?"  
Logan looked up to see Chamber standing in the kitchen doorway. The kid was a thin dark line as the light flooded in from the dining room. The bottom half of his face was covered with a wide leather strip, and it almost made him look normal. Logan managed a smile in his direction, and Chamber moved towards the kitchen table. "Jean asked me to find you," He said, his voice echoing inside Logan's head. "The boy you saved has woken."  
Logan sipped his coffee and nodded, the smile broadening. "Thats good."  
Chamber stood still and looked down at Logan, his hands clasped behind his back. Logan hesitated, then said, without looking up, "There something else, Jono?"  
"Cyclops is going to question him, is that right?"  
"As far as I know."  
"Cyclops doesnt beleive your story." It was a simple statement.  
"I'm crushed."  
"And you're not telling the whole truth."  
At that, Logan looked up, a frown shadowing his eyes. "Is that a fact?"  
Chamber shrugged. Stiff leather creaked. "At least, thats what I think."  
Logan sipped his coffee again, and scratched his chin. It sounded like he was sanding back wood. "I saw something last night that I cant explain," He replied. "And I'd just as soon not discuss it until I'm sure I saw what I saw. Maybe the kid can help me understand it, I dont know."  
"Is he a m....Is he one of us?"  
Logan shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure. But he was in trouble and I helped him. Thats all I know."  
Chamber nodded, which was a stiff, controlled movement. Logan couldnt imagine what it would be like to live with a physical condition like his. "If he isn't one of us, Cyclops willl probably turn him over to the proper authorities. Cyclops is scared of any more unwanted publicity."  
"Cyclops isnt in charge. Xavier is."  
Chamber nodded again, and began to turn away. "Cyclops isnt the sort of leader we need right now," He said when he reached the doorway. He looked back at Logan for a few moments, and Logan met his gaze. Chamber's message was clear.  
  
  
  
Cyclops crossed his arms over his chest and sighed heavily. "We can't let this kid know his location," He said to Jean. "That would be a big mistake."  
"He's just come out of a coma, for chrissakes," Jean replied, her tone heavy and quick. "He's confused, anxious and afraid. We cant keep him in the med lab forever."  
"What do we know about the kid? For all we know he could have a very powerful family, and if he divulges any details about the school, we will be forced to close and the students will be turned over to the state. Is that what you want?"  
Jean glared at him and sighed in annoyance. "If you really need me to answer that, then you dont know me at all."  
Scott reached out and put a firm hand on her shoulder. "I didnt mean it like that. Its just...This could have been the conversation I had with Logan earlier."  
"I'm not taking sides, Scott, but I will tell you now that I will not surrender this boy until we know that he is safe. It doesnt matter if he's a mutant." Her voice softened as she continued. "Just promise me that you wont do anything until I speak to Charles?"  
He took his hand off her shoulder and bowed his head, then nodded. "Alright. But if Charles thinks-"  
"Charles will do whats best for the boy. Dont worry."  
She left the room and Cyclops watched his fiance go. He wondered if Jean had used her powers to turn his resolve around, and he felt suddenly angry. The drawback of being in a relationship with a telepath was not being able to tell when they were manipulating you, and not being able to prove it if they did.   
  
  
  
The man on the television had a box like face and a thick neck, with squinting, bloodshot eyes. his skin tone was somewhere between red and yellow, and his hair fell in greasy tendrils over his eyes. At a geuss, Bobby would have said he was in his early forties. The graphic below the man's face identified him as Earl Landers.  
"My boy is as normal as any boy made by the hands of the lord," He said in a deep, loud voice. There was a bank of microphones under his chin. "I dont know what those freaks did to him, but he came back different."  
Bobby leaned foward and tunred the volume up, then looked back at Sam. Sam's expression mirrored his: Disbelief.  
"I do beleive that the Lord created us all in his image. But these mutants were not part of that image. My family will never be the same again."  
"I saw this kid's bruises," Bobby said to the screen, as if addressing the man directly. "A mutant didnt put them there."  
"Do people really believe this guy?" Sam asked.  
Bobby nodded. "Scary huh? He's giving evidence at thr Proffessor's hearing, and he has the full backing of the Friends of Humanity."  
Ororo walked into the common room at that moment, and looked at the television screen. "No good can come of this man's lies," She said, reaching over to take the remote control from Bobby. "And nothing good can come from listening to them." She clicked off the TV, and looked at Sam and Bobby. "The proffessor will not let this man or his "Friends" come near this school, be sure of that."  
Bobby half smiled. "Because the X-men will stop them, you mean."  
"I sincerely hope that the team will not have to."  
"But isnt that why the Proffessor assembled the team? To defend attacks on mutants with the same sort of fotce."  
Ororo sat on the edge of the couch and shook her head. "The proffessor assmenbled us to maintain a stability between humans and mutants. That also means making sure both sides do not upset that stability."  
"Like Magneto," Sam offered.  
"Like Magneto. The proffessor set up the team, hoping that it would not need to be utilised. We all hope that the day will come when the X-men are no longer needed, because that means we have served our purpose."  
"But until then?" Fear crept into Sam's voice as he spoke.   
"Until then, the team, and the school, will be here. Ready."  



	3. Chapter three

Morgan Rolled down his car window and grunted. He unclipped his seatbelt and checked the address that Creed had given him. It was the right house, but not at all what he was expecting. He looked at the large house that was surrounded by perfectly manicured lawns and protected by a high white iron fence, and wondered what a kid from this sort of place was doing with a group like the friends of humanity. He got out of the car and walked across the road to the ornate iron gate in front of the house, and noticed an elderly black man walking towards him. He wore a wide brimmed hat which cast a shadow over his entire face. Morgan nodded at the man, who reached the gate and looked through the white bars at him. "The Blacksmiths have been expecting you," He said as he unlocked the gate and swung it open. "Mr. Creed called and told them you would be coming."  
  
Morgan held out a hand and smiled. "Vic Morgan. Pleased to meet you."  
  
The older man shook his hand. "Eli Halliday."  
  
Eli turned away and began to walk up a well tended gravel path, not waiting to see if Morgan was following. Morgan caught up with him and looked around the lush grounds that hemmed in the path. "Nice garden," He commented, making sure Eli knew the compliment was directed at him.  
  
Eli smiled and looked sideways at Morgan. "I just make sure it looks like Mrs. Blacksmith wants."  
  
"How long have you been working for the Blacksmiths?" They were approaching the steps that led to the front verandah. Eli shrugged, and sighed, took of his hat and wiped sweat off his brow with his forearm. He looked at Morgan with tired, chocolate brown eyes. His short hair was almost white, and it glistened in the sunlight.  
  
"I worked for old Mr. Blacksmith back when I was younger," He said, playing with the hat in his hands. "So I'd say a good while now."  
  
"They good people?"  
  
Eli shrugged again. He gave Morgan a frown at the question, his mouth set into a hard line. "Can't say that they've been anything but fair to me in my time," He put his hat back on, and wiped his hands on his trousers. "But that dont count for anything." He paused, looked back at the big white house in front of them, and said, "You're here to talk with them about young Jeremiah, I take it."  
  
Morgan nodded. "Thats right."  
  
Eli shook his head. "If old Mr. Blacksmith could see that boy today...." He let his sentence die, and looked back at Morgan.  
  
"You're not fond of him?"  
  
Eli laughed softly, humourlessly. "He made it hard to be fond of him these past few years. But he used to be such a good boy...." Eli began to climb the stairs, and Morgan followed. Morgan knew the old man had said what he had to say. There would be no use questioning him further.  
  
Eli walked across the verandah and stood beside the door. When Morgan joined him, he opened it and they entered the Blacksmiths home.  
  
Morgan was hit by the smell at first; jasmine, citrus and lavender mixed with antiseptic and furniture polish. It looked like every surface that could be polished, had been to within an inch of its life. His reflection glided past on hallway table tops, picture frames, and the honey coloured hardwood floors. Eli led him to a large room with two velvet sofas in the middle, one on either side of a long polished coffee table.  
  
"Sit down," Eli said to him. "I'll fetch Mrs. Blacksmith."  
  
Morgan watched him shuffle out and sat on the closest sofa, almost half sinking into its soft cushions in the process. He righted himself and looked about the room. Bookshelves lined the walls, and there was a faint smell of disinfectant in the air. There were no other furnishing in the room save for the sofas and the coffee table.  
  
The clicking of high heels on the hardwood floor heralded the arrival of Mrs. Blacksmith. Morgan rose as she entered the room. She was a striking woman with iron coloured hair and pale skin that showed only the slightest signs of ageing. She wore a simple blue dress, and clutched a tattered hankercheif in one hand and a photo album in the other. "Mr. Morgan," She greeted him, with a strong voice.  
  
"Thankyou for meeting with me, Mrs. Blacksmith," He replied, and shook her offered hand. She took a seat on the other sofa, tucking her legs in and smoothing her dress with heavily jewelled hands.  
  
"Senator Creed called a short while ago. He tells me you are inquiring about Jeremiah."  
  
"Thats right. I'm trying to peice together what happened that night."  
  
She nodded, pursed her lips. "Such a terrible tradgedy. My heart goes out to the families of the other boys. I just pray that Jeremiah is safe." Her voice wavered at the mention of his name, and she pressed the hankerchief under her nose. "Does it sound callous of me? Praying for my son to be alive when two mothers have to suffer for the rest of their lives...."  
  
Morgan tried to sound as sympathetic as possible. "We are going to try our damndest to find your son, ma'am," And ask the little prick some questions, he thought.  
  
She nodded, and her eyes misted over for a second, before she blinked the tears away. Morgan produced his notebook and took a breath. "Has Jeremiah tried to contact you since the incident?"  
  
She shook her head,a frown shadowing her expression. "No he has not. If he had called, we would have certainly let the police know by now." Her voice had hardened.  
  
He nodded, jotting something in his notebook. "Obviously you and your husband were aware of Jeremiah's involvement with the Friends of Humanity?"  
  
She nodded. "Yes."  
  
"Are either you or your husband affiliated with the Friends of Humanity?"  
  
She shook her head. "Eugine and I are both what you'd call political athiests. We dont really support any one political movement."  
  
"Do you know Graydon Creed?"  
  
"I've met the man at functions and the like. He speaks very highly of Jeremiah, but I dont know him personally."  
  
Morgan jotted this down and looked up. "Do you know anything about the Friends of Humanity?"  
  
Again she shook her head. "As I said, we don't follow politics. We didnt really know of Jeremiah's involvement until recently."  
  
Morgan wanted to ask her what sort of parent she was if she didnt even know who her son was spending his time with. He felt heat creep up from his chest to his neck and pushed these thoughts away. The woman appeared to be genuinely distraught, like every other parent of a missing child that Morgan had interviewed. Always it was the same: Nobody could understand the child anymore. They had given up punishing them, stopped asking where the child was going, who they were with, thrown up their hands to heaven and said, "We did the best we could." But Morgan had sat across from too many of these parents, and he knew when one was not being truthful. Mrs. Blacksmith was holding something back.  
  
She wiped her eyes with the rumpled hankerchief, and slid the photo album across the coffee table towards Morgan. "My boy is missing," She said, as if she'd read his thoughts. "My husband and I will do anything to have him back."  
  
Morgan took the album and looked at its powder blue cover with a picture of a cherub sitting on a cloud, the words "Our little boy" Embossed below. He opened the album in his lap, flipped through the stiff pages. The first few pages were devoted to the baby's stats: Weight, time of birth, hair colour, eye colour. Then the family tree, "Mommy and Daddy" On either side of an illustration of a tree, then the boy's name, then the names of his extended family on both sides. Morgan's eyes skimmed the names, more out of habit than anything else, and flipped to the very back section, where he found several photos of Jeremiah in his mid teens. The boy smiled up at him was blonde, blue eyed and handsome. He patted a german shepherd in one of them, a huge grin plastered on his face. Morgan held up the album, and Mrs. Blacksmith looked up. She smiled sadly. "Oh. That was taken about a year ago," She said. "He's with Bouncer, his old dog." Her voice dropped and her eyes fell to her lap once more. "Bouncer died not long after that photo was taken."  
  
Morgan cocked his head to the side and looked at the photo again. "Would it be possible to get a copy of this one, ma'am?" He asked. "It's very clear, a good shot of his face. If we showed it around, sent it out to a few precincts, might jog somebody's memory."  
  
She nodded. "You can take that one. I have another copy somewhere."  
  
He peeled back the protective film from the cardstock page and lifted the photograph out. "Thankyou," He said as he slipped it into his pocket. "I'll take good care of it, return it once we're done."  
  
She nodded again. "Do whatever you need. Just bring him back to me, detective."  
  
  
  
"State your name for the record."  
  
"Charles Francis Xavier."  
  
"Raise your right hand and repeat after me: I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God."  
  
Xavier placed his left hand on the bible before him and raised his right hand while repeating the oath. He looked at the assembled panel, which comprised of six people representing the Department of Education, Child Protection Services, the judiciary (Although this hearing was not a trial), and the senate. Xavier noticed Robert Frost take his seat, and Frost nodded in his direction, making look like a reserbed greeting than the acknowledgement that it was.  
  
The appointed chair was Judge Valery Sinclair, a veteran on the bench, and by all accounts, a very cold and abrupt woman. Xavier knew she felt inferior because of her overbite and hawk like nose, and had convinced herself long ago that power was the only way to make people respect her. He tried not to listen to her thoughts as she rose to speak. The hearing was closed, due to the nature of its subject matter, so her announcement rang out in the hollow room. "Proffessor Xavier, the panel would like to thank you for your attendance here today. This hearing is only to determine the facts pertaining to allegations levelled at your school and its conduct, and its findings are not enforceable by law. However, this panel may make recommendations to the Department of Education to Take further action."  
  
"I understand."  
  
Sinclair sat and adjusted her glasses, glancing breifly at a sheet of paper in front of her. Her green eyes flicked from it to Xavier. "You do not have counsel present?" She asked.  
  
Xavier nodded. "Since this is not a trial, I did not see the need, Your Honor."  
  
Sinclair sniffed and pushed her glasses up her nose. "Very well," She said. "Let's begin. I beleive Mr. Grisholm would like to begin."  
  
Jack Grisholm was the official from Child Protection. He was a large man with a thick black mustache sprouting under his nose. Xavier knew he should be the last person who should be working for Child Protection, as a twelve year old taiwanese boy could attest. He also knew this man did not care for mutants and did not particularly like Xavier. The man shifted in his seat and consulted his notes. Xavier sat with a blank expression on his face as the Grisholm spoke. "Proffessor Xavier, what evidence do you have that validates your claim that the boy was beaten by his father?"  
  
"It was clear by the state he was in when he arrived at the school. He was bleeding and bruised quite badly. He was frightened--"  
  
"Yes, we have read your statement, Proffessor," Grisholm interrupted. "But the question was, what evidence do you have that backs it up?"  
  
Xavier held up a manilla folder. "The medical reports from the school's doctor, detailing the extent of the injuries, along with photographs of the boy's wounds, all dated."  
  
Xavier handed six identical folders to a clerk, who gave handed them out to the panel members. The air atmosphere was heavy as the panel members read the documents, or glanced at them, in Grisholm's case. "This doctor..." He shuffled the papers and looked back up. "...Jean Grey..Is she a qualified medical practitioner?"  
  
"Of course Dr. Grey is fully qualified. In fact, she gave up a career as a general practitioner in favour of becoming the school's resident. She is an extremely dedicated proffessional, and her integrity is above reproach."  
  
Sinclair interjected. "I have met with Dr. Grey on several occaisions, Mr. Grisholm," She fixed him with a look that made the man stop shuffling his papers. "And her credentials and proffessionalism are not in question. Please make your questions more relevent to our main area of investigation."  
  
Grisholm nodded at her, and Xavier could feel cold loathing emenate from him. He looked back at Xavier and cleared his throat. "What do you say to the allegations that your school actively encourages mutant activity?"  
  
Xavier blinked rapidly. "What do you mean by 'mutant activity', Mr. Grisholm?"  
  
Grisholm shifted in his seat. "There are reports that your school is in fact a training program for mutants, and that among its teachers and student population are several known mutant outlaws."  
  
"My school is neither a glorified boot camp or a haven for lawlessness. We do not promote bigotry of any kind," Xavier gave Grisholm a sharp look. "If only the public school system could operate similarly."  
  
  
  
Sebastien dove into the pool and the water seemed to reveive him with barely a ripple of complaint. His lithe form glided under its surface, until his head broke and he began to stroke forward. He needed to get some perspective, blow some cobwebs away, start making sense.  
  
The pool room was silent save for the whisper like sound of the water lapping against the pool's sides. He reached out and touched the wall in front of him, looked back at how far he'd come. Smiling to himself, he pushed away from the wall with his feet and drifted on his back, his arms outstretched. He closed his eyes against the sun that shone through the skylight above. He saw limitless red pulsing across his eyelids.  
  
A polite cough echoed through his head, slicing through the jumble of thoughts that flittered through his mind. He righted himself and, treading water, looked around the pool room. Chamber sat on a bench beside the pool, watching him.  
  
"Oh, Its you," Sebastien said.  
  
"It's me."  
  
"Do you always creep up on people like some kinda ghoul?"  
  
"Always."  
  
Sebastien began to paddle over to the side. "Am I hogging the pool? Is it your turn?"  
  
Chamber laughed. "Cant swim."  
  
"Then what do you want?"  
  
Chamber stood up, looked down at Sebastien. "You know what this place is, right?"  
  
Sebastien held on to the side and treaded water. "Some kinda school, I geuss."  
  
Chamber fingered the crimson scarf that he'd wrapped under his nose, covering half his face. He shrugged. "Well, it is a school," He said. "And it isnt."  
  
"That cleared things up."  
  
"Summers doesnt want you to know where you are."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"He's afraid."  
  
Sebastien frowned. "Of what?"  
  
"He's afraid of what it may mean to tell you what we are. To say the words, expose you to it."  
  
Chambers word carried an edge that made Sebastien uncomfortable. "I think I already know," He replied.  
  
"Really."  
  
Sebastien pulled himself out of the water and stood in front of Chamber. He felt better knowing they were on an even footing now. He looked into Chamber's marble-black eyes and nodded to the pool. "You're afraid of the pool, arent you?" He asked, cocking his head to the side.  
  
"No." Chamber felt his chest constrict. "I'm not afraid."  
  
Sebastien just stared into his eyes.  
  
"Neither am I. I know what this place is, what you all are. And," He stopped, looked back at the pool. He smiled. "I dont particularly care. One of you saved me, and now I have a place to stay. Thats all I need to know. The red-headed woman, Jean, thinks I may be one of you."  
  
"And are you?" Chamber was not looking at Sebastien. He was stario the water, watching the sunlight play on its surface."  
  
"Maybe. I dunno. But I'm not normal."  
  
Chamber was mesmerised by the silver chasing itself on the water's surface. The sunlight winked at him. Mocked him. The lapping water felt like laughter.....  
  
Sebastien reached out, his fingers splayed, and his fingers brushed against the thick fabric of the scarf. He hooked them under the scarf, and tugged on it slightly. Chamber looked up and grabbed his wrist, then looked into his eyes. "Don't."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Chamber dropped Sebastien's hand. Not roughly, but forcefull enough. "I've said what I need to say," He said.  
  
"The water isnt the only thing that scares you."  
  
Chamber walked away, turned his back on the mocking water.  
  
  
  
Morgan leaned hos forearms on the counter and smiled at Rubie Donnell, the records Clerk. "How's life treating you, Ruby Diamond?"  
  
Ruby was a fifty five year old woman with flame red hair, pale blue eyes and almost orange coloured lipstick. Most wouldnt gibe her the time of day, but Morgan went out of his way to make her feel appreciated. Never know when you need to ask a favour.  
  
Ruby smiled back at him. "Better for seeing you here, darlin'."  
  
"Good. Ruby, can I ask a massive favour?"  
  
Ruby looked over her rimless spectacles at him. Her eyes narrowed a little, but she said, "Ask away, hon."  
  
"I'm looking at a case at the moment. That business with the neo nazi punks topping themselves."  
  
Ruby nodded. "I know the one. Processed the files not long ago. You want me to pull em up for you?"  
  
He shook his head. "I'm trying to track down a possible third punk, he hot footed it outta there when he saw what happened to his buddies. Thing is, he seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. I've followed a lead and dropped in on the kid's parents, seems they havent heard from him since."  
  
Ruby's eyes glimmered with recognition. He wanted her to pull up a file on the parents! "Vic," She began. "I'd love to help, but for me to pull up any files, you need to have a release form with the captains signature on the bottom. You know that."  
  
Morgan nodded, held up a hand. "I know, but the thing is, I've already run the parents angle by the captain. But this family is influential. One call to the commissioner, captain's telling me to leave that angle alone."  
  
He pleaded her with his eyes and said, "I'll take full responsibilty, Ruby. All you need to do is let me in that cosy little records storage room, let me pull the file myself, You are absolved. I acted on my own." He held up a hand and placed it over his heart, or where he geussed his heart was.  
  
She regarded him with eyes that could strip titanium. "Well," She said with a grin on her face. 'i geuss I could help a bit. You wouldnt know where to begin. Dont want you messing up my system."  
  
"Ruby, you are the queen, the goddess, my savior."  
  
She pointed a finger at him. "You will pay with blood if this comes back to me, you hear?"  
  
He nodded, and believed her. 


	4. Chapter four

A recess had been called, and Xavier wheeeled himself out into a coutyard to the side of the building. He dialled a number on his mobile phone and the other line picked up in a matter of seconds.  
  
"Charles," Jean said.  
  
"I sometimes wonder what it would be like to lift a phone and wonder who's calling."  
  
She laughed softly. "How are things progressing?"  
  
He sighed. The line hummed with his frustration. "It seems as though they want to make an example of us."  
  
"An example?"  
  
"If are not to be shut down, then our operations will be monitored heavily, I fear."  
  
"They cant do that!"  
  
"Standard procedure, Jean. We will not be absolved. This hearing will end with a victory for them, any which way."  
  
"And what does the chair feel?"  
  
"She is an open minded and fair woman. But she will not bend the law to suit one case. She is perhaps the only one who regrets this whole thing."  
  
"Charles, we cannot let this school close."  
  
"I know that, Jean."  
  
"I feel horrible for suggesting it, but this whole situation could be remedied....."  
  
"Jean."  
  
"Okay. But if a cat is backed to a wall, he may be forced to use claws to escape."  
  
"Very nice euphamism."  
  
"Thankyou."  
  
"How are things at the school?"  
  
"Like you already dont know."  
  
Xavier smiled. "You are doing the right thing with this child, Jean. Trust your instincts. He needs our guidance."  
  
"I was right about him being one of us, wasnt I?"  
  
"There are other things this boy must face first."  
  
"What do you mean, Charles?"  
  
"His...Condition isnt the only thing that sets him apart from the world. Keep an eye on him."  
  
"I will."  
  
"I'll call you as soon as I know anything more."  
  
"You know you dont need to call. I'll feel it."  
  
Xavier ended the call, and slipped his mobile phone into his breast pocket. He looked up to see a man standing over him.  
  
"Charles," He said. "I thought I might find you here."  
  
Xavier regarded the other man for few moments, and nodded his head in response.  
  
"How goes things? I heard about this god awful trial."  
  
The other man had blocked the sun and Xavier was engulfed by his shadow. "I knew you were here," He said.  
  
"You always do," The other man replied. He wore a pinstriped three peice suit, hands shoved into pockets. "I sometimes forget. Its hard to keep a secret from Charles Xavier."  
  
Xavier nodded again. "I also know why you came, and though I thank you, it is not necesary."  
  
The other man laughed softly."I may as well be made of glass. You see right through me."  
  
Xavier smiled at that.The other man removed his glasses, withdrew a bright blue hankerchief and polished their lenses. He fixed Xavier with a pupil- less gaze, and cocked his head to the side. Xavier was truly awed at the size of him, even more awed by the man's ability to just blend in when the occaision called for it. The large man tapped the buckle of his belt and smiled devilishly at Xavier.  
  
"You can hardly notice it now," He said. "I've made several refinements, ironed out the bugs."  
  
"So I see."  
  
Xavier watched Robert Frost approached them, and nodded towards him. The other man turned and replaced his glasses. A glint of recognition in his eyes. "Robert Frost. Oh my stars and garters."  
  
Frost smiled at them both. "Proffessor, we're about to reconvene."  
  
Xavier nodded, then raised an open palm to the big man, presenting him to Frost. "Robert, I beleive you know Dr. Henry McCoy."  
  
  
  
***  
  
Although the panel's hearing into Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters was closed to the public, the details were leaked almost hourly to media outlets in Washington, and the major networks picked them up and ran them as top stories. A battalion of reporters camped outside the government building, eager to pounce on anything, anyone, coming out.  
  
Every man on the street had an opinion on the outcome of the hearing, and every man's opinion was different. Talk of segregation for mutants and humans, talk of controlling mutant activity, talk of drowning them at birth, talk of Xavier being a dangerous man.  
  
Clips of an old interview with Xavier on Larry King Live, shown in slow motion, displayed on the front page of every major tabloid in the country.  
  
Dr Henry McCoy, prolific bio geneticist, whose paper on the so called "X- factor",the sequence of genes that distinguishes mutants from normal humans, appeared on sesveral talk shows, feircly defending his friend and collegue Proffessor Xavier, and hotly debated the need for a hearing into the school's operations.  
  
"The department of education should be reviewing its policy on mutant segregation rather than running a witch hunt," He said to Larry King. Graydon Creed, via satellite, argued this point, questioning Dr McCoy's position to make such a claim.  
  
"Dr McCoy should be careful," He said. "His expertise does not extend to these matters."  
  
"Mr.Creed does not fully grasp the finer issues that are at hand here," McCoy countered. "Instead of trying to understand, he wants to start a war."  
  
  
  
Ororo switched off the television and looked at Logan. "Henry is making himself a target," She said. "He may as well wave a red flag in front of a bull, to talk of war the way he is."  
  
Logan nodded. "He knows he's rufflin' feathers. But that can be a good thing sometimes."  
  
"I wish he would swallow his pride and join the team," Ororo said, looking at her reflection in the blank television screen. She drew her knees up to her chin and bit her bottom lip. "He's too close to detection out there. Look at him."  
  
"He's doing good out there, 'ro. He's fighting in a different way, but he's still fighting with us."  
  
"Do you think there's a war brewing, Logan?" Her voice was small, strained. She looked at him with wide eyes.  
  
He inhaled deeply and cocked his head to the side when he looked at her. "There's always a war brewing," He answered. "Someone always wants war, and most of the time they get it."  
  
Ororo knew he was right, but she still resented Logan for being right. He was being realistic, but then in he always was.  
  
"Sometimes, I wish you could be wrong," She said softly.  
  
He smiled, but the humour in it was slight. "Sometimes, so do I."  
  
Ororo felt his rough hand on her arm. She put her small hand over his, patted it gently, and began to move away. "It wont do for the children to see their teacher scared. The future X-men need strong people, do they not?"  
  
"They also need to know that you're human. Humans get scared sometimes."  
  
"But we're not human."  
  
He lowered his head but still held her gaze. Again that smirk. "No," He replied. "We're something else."  
  
  
  
Morgan rubbed his temples. He'd been reading for an hour and a half now, and all he had to show for it was a sore neck and the begginings of a tension headache. The kid's mother might as well not exist; her record consisted of one traffic fine. From 1982. Paid in full, thank you very much. The kid's father, Paul Blacksmith, was a good citizen too. Drink driving, no conviction. Illegal parking. Fine paid in full.  
  
The boy's file stared up at him from the desk, and the damn thing was about as thick as a bible. He didnt really feel like wading through its pages, and he badly needed coffee. He stood up and stretched until he felt something pop, yawned, and headed out of his office, then mande his way to the shoebox-like kitchenette they called a break room.  
  
A young officer was pouring coffee when he entered. He nodded to Morgan and held up the coffee pot. "You want one, Detective Morgan?"  
  
"Yeah. Thanks." Morgan sat at a table and watched as the officer approched with two steaming styrofoam cups in hand. Morgan read the man's name tag as he slid the styrofoam cup towards him. Lucas Whitehall. Morgan lifted the cup to his lips and sipped, then looked at Whitehall. "You were on the scene the night those two punks walked into traffic, right?"  
  
Whitehall nodded. He had a buzz cut, a long pale face and serious blue eyes. Looked good in a uniform. Probably why he took the job in the first place. "Thats right. Real messy scene there."  
  
"I saw. What did you think of the whole thing?"  
  
Whitehall frowned at Morgan. He looked like he was posing for Calvin Klein. "Didnt you read my report?"  
  
"Yeah, but what did you think about the whole thing?" Morgan fixed him with a gaze that had made hardened criminals crack, but it just served to confuse the other man more.  
  
"It was odd, I thought, that these boys would just off themselves for no reason, sir. I mean, they were running after that other kid, not running away from him."  
  
Morgan sat back in the hard metal chair and sipped his coffee again. "You know what the boys were involved in, right?"  
  
"I've heard talk around the place...Some of the other officers...."  
  
"Some of the other officers think the Klansmen were onto something. You wanna tip? Dont listen to what they think. Dont nod when they talk like that. Sure fire ticket to nowhere, listening to them."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"You dont think it's possible that these boys killed themselves. Thats what I think. I also think that these boys were not good human beings and deserved what they got, but thats just me."  
  
Whitehall nodded and smiled. "With you there, sir."  
  
"In any case, I don't think the investigation will be wrapped up in a nice neat bow."  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
Morgan sighed deeply, shrugged. He wondered if he'd already said too much. Whitehall had moved in closer, his face attentive, with not a hint of malice. "The two dead boys come from troubled homes. Drunk- ass father, whore mother, that sort of thing. The third boy, the one that got away? He comes from one of the cleanest homes I've ever seen. Father's a doctor, mother's some kinds heir....Not really the sort of background you'd think a boy like this would have. Leads me to think something's up. But for the life of me..." He drew in air though his teeth. "I can't see it."  
  
Whiteahll sipped his coffee thoughtfully, tapped his fingers on the table rapidly. "You won't find anything under the good doctor's name," He said as though everyone knew it.  
  
Morgan fixed him with an impatient stare. "I've already come to that conclusion, thankyou."  
  
Whitehall shrugged. "You're barking up the wrong tree looking for the boy's father in that file...."  
  
"What do you mean, looking for...Wait a minute!" Morgan stood up so rapidly that his stryofoam cup toppled over. Whitehall stood up, too, but more so he wouldnt get splashed by hot coffee than anything. Morgan looked at Whitehall, stunned, eyes wide and searching for something. "I've been searching under Dr. Eugine Blacksmith's details, thinking he was...But he's not...." His voice faded in his throat, and his hand was poised as if he meant to grasp something. Then he gave Whitehall a frown. "How did you know?"  
  
"Sir? Know what?"  
  
Morgan was already in the doorway and pointed at the other man. "Eugine Blacksmith isnt Jeremiah's father." 


	5. Chapter five

Chamber stretched out on his bed, and felt his muscles burn slightly. He hadn't realised how intense his workout had been until he wanted to relax. But still, the pain felt good. Gave him a release of sorts, and thats what he needed, and he didn't really know why.  
  
Bobby shifted in his bed across the room. Chamber could tell he wasnt asleep. Chamber leaned on his elbows and looked over at him. "Bobby? Are you awake?"  
  
Bobby turned over and nodded. "Yup."  
  
Chamber paused before speaking. He wanted this to come out right. "Have you noticed anything...strange...about this new boy?"  
  
"Sebastien?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Bobby sat up and shrugged. His brown hair was a tousled mess. "He seems nice enough. Why?"  
  
"Just asking."  
  
Chamber hardly ever spoke to Bobby during the day, much less when they should be asleep, so Bobby was already suspicious. "Do you think he's strange?"  
  
"He's nice enough. He has a way about him...I dunt know..."  
  
Bobby scratched his naked shoulder and nodded, although he didn't quite understand what Chamber was trying to say. "He seems to like Logan," he offered.  
  
"Because Logan saved him. He's grateful, obviously."  
  
"Logan's a good judge of character, Jono. And besides, do you really think he could keep a secret here?"  
  
Chamber shrugged. He felt like a fool for bringing it up. "It's just that...None of knows what he's capable of. No one knows what his power is, or even if he has one. Why is he hiding with us?"  
  
Bobby had no answer, at least, not one that would satisfy Chamber. He liked Sebastien. He didn't think there was anything to be suspicious about. "You know, it wouldnt kill you to start trusting people, Chamber."  
  
Chamber laid back down and turned his back to Bobby. It signalled the end of their conversation.  
  
  
  
Logan leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, head down, as he listened to Jean. Ororo and Scott were seated before the large desk in Xavier's office. "Charles has left the decision with me," Jean said in an even voice. She sat behind the desk, trying to look like she belonged there. "And I've decided that the boy is to stay with us. At least for now. Charles agrees with me on this. The situation needs closer scrutiny."  
  
Scott leaned foward. "I wish you'd let me speak to him about this," he said. "This is foolishness. He's in Washington right now, fighting for this school, and this isnt going to help things."  
  
Jean raised an eyebrow. "He left the decision to me. He agreed with my choices. Theres no need for further consulatation."  
  
Ororo nodded. "I think its for the best, Scott." She put her hand on his arm. "For now, we let him stay."  
  
"We can't let this school be exposed!" Real anger flared in Scott's voice.  
  
"What," Logan asked from behind them, forcing everyone to turn, "Are you really afraid of, Cyclops?" He pushed off the wall and walked towards them, slowly, with purpose. "Afraid that the school will be exposed, closed down, and the whole world will come tumbling down? Life goes on, boy."  
  
Scott stood up, his posture a sharp study in contrast to Logan's; bolt upright versus casually slouched. "Nobody asked for your input, Logan." His voice was low, but it did not affect Logan.  
  
"The way I see it," Logan said, ignoring Scott completely, addressing Jean and Ororo instead. "This boy has nothing to do with the school's current predicament. Whatever happens from now, was started some time ago."  
  
Jean nodded, and gazed into Logan's eyes. The look of admiration was apparent. Scott moved closer to the desk, tried to put distance between Logan and Jean. "Whatever. If the proffessor has given the OK, then I guess we keep the boy here for now. But when the proffessor returns, we're going to have a serious look at the situation."  
  
Logan smiled and cocked his head to the side, looking at Scott with his cool blue eyes dancing.  
  
"You're afraid of what he might be," he said softly, then laughed. "You're actually afraid this boy might be normal, god forbid. You are ashamed of being a mutant around a real human, isnt that right?"  
  
Jean sensed Scott's reaction just seconds before it happened. The sound of his fist impactin on Logan's face was almost sickening. She closed her eyes, heard Ororo gasp, then the familiar sound of Logan's claws sliding out...  
  
She opened her eyes to see Scott hurtling through the air, then hitting the ground with a thud. Logan landed on top of him, claws drawn, one foot on Scott's arm, pinning him down, his arm stretched back and ready to sink those claws into Scott's throat. Scott was grabbing for something with his free arm, writhing under Logan, his fingers splayed.  
  
His visor had been knocked off.  
  
Jean was momentarily speechless, her hands covering her mouth. But then she found her voice, and it came out too small. "Logan! Don't do it!"  
  
Scott, his eyes squeezed shut, grunted, "Get off me, Logan, or so help me...."  
  
Logan growled at him, his mouth set into a grimace. "Or what? You'll open your eyes? punch a big hole in my chest? We both know that I'd push these claws through your throat before the force really hits me." The words tumbled out of his mouth quickly, softly. Everyone in the room knew he spoke the truth, especially Jean.  
  
"I don't...Want to kill you...Logan...."  
  
"Issat so? Well, that makes you Weak." Scott felt the razor sharp tips of Logan's claws press into his flesh. He gagged.  
  
Jean moved closer, and looked across the room to Ororo, who stood transfixed, unsure of what to do. She looked back down at the men, and frowned. Her anger boiled over. She felt her body tingle with it.  
  
"Thats...Enough!" She screamed.  
  
Logan felt his arm involuntarily pull back, then his entire body lifted off Scott. He was suspended in mid air, held by the force of Jean's mind. There was no point in struglling; like quicksand, struggling with telekenesis would lead to trouble.  
  
Scott's visor lifted itself off the floor and traveled through the air to Scott's face. When his visor covered his eyes completely, His body lifted off the ground too. Jean walked towards them and looked up. "I'm tired of this!" She said angrily. "You both disgust me. I've seen six year olds handle conflict more effectively!"  
  
She sighed and with an offhand gesture, she slammed their bodies together with brutal force, knocking both of them out. They fell to the floor limply,no longer held by Jean's power, no longer worthy of it. She looked at Ororo, who nodded her approval.  
  
"I could have seen this coming," she said, and began to walk towards the door. "It's been brewing for months."  
  
And she was gone.  
  
Ororo looked at the mass of limbs on the floor, and then at the empty doorway. "I wonder, if you knew it was coming, why you didn't stop it?" But then, she knew the answer already: Jean wanted them both, needed them both in different ways.  
  
The truth of it? She enjoyed them fighting over her.  
  
  
  
Logan was the first to wake. The gash on his head had long since healed over, and the only evidence of it was a thin dark line of dried blood above his eye. Cyclops was still out cold.  
  
Storm helped Logan up and sighed. "What was the purpose of that...display, Logan?" She asked, her irritation pinching her voice. "I thought you were wiser than that, my friend."  
  
"So did I," Logan said softly, running his hands through his hair. "But I just couldn't stop myself from sayin' what I said. It was like something forced everything outta me."  
  
"Could it have had something to do with Jean's presence?"  
  
"Maybe, I dunno."  
  
Ororo inclined her head and crossed her arms over her breast, her white hair veling both sides of her finely sculpted ebony face. "Whatever the case, this sort of thing cannot continue, Logan." She looked up at him breifly, daring him to say something. He stood silently, holding her gaze. "Its destructive in more ways than you can imagine. I would advise you both to think before you act in such a way, otherwise Jean won't be the only one you'll have to deal with."  
  
Logan had never heard Ororo speak in such a way. She didn't like to make threats, so when she did, she meant them. He couldn't explain himself, couldn't justify his actions, and Ororo was right.  
  
  
  
Graydon Creed stood over the boy, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed coldly on the boy's bruised face. The boy squinted and held up an arm to sheild his eyes from the light flooding in through the open door. The boy didn't know how long he'd been in the small, dark room with its hard cold floor, and he couldn't count the hours since the last time he was beaten by one of the gaurds. Dried blood crusted at the sides of the boy's mouth, and a large bruise bloomed on his temple, dark and angry. The boy whimpered as Creed grabbed him by the neck and yanked him up to eye level.  
  
"Survival is trait that only the greatest beings possess," Creed said softly. "I am truly surprised that you have managed this long." Creed shrugged, his eyes never once leaving the boy's. "This could have been a lot less painful if only you'd have told me what happened that night."  
  
The boy let out a little moan. "I told you, I...I c-cant remember."  
  
"And I told you, I don't beleive you. Hence your punishment. And it will continue until such time as you do remember. I know this had something to do with that little mutie freak. I know they died because of their own stupidity. And so will you, if you don't begin to cooperate."  
  
Creed dropped the boy, who fell into a heap at his feet. Creed sneered down at the boy.  
  
"I honestly don't remember! All I can remember is waking up in hospital! Please!"  
  
Creed cocked his head to the side, smiled mockingly. "Jeremiah," he said. "If only your father could see you now. Your father was a visionary, Jeremiah. He would be truly sick to his stomach to see how you've turned out."  
  
Creed slammed the thick metal door behind him, leaving Jeremiah to the blackness.  
  
  
  
Xavier smiled at McCoy as the big man sat at their table and ordered a chardonnay. McCoy wore a three peice suit and a red silk tie, and looked for all the world like he fit in, except he was three times the size of any man in the room. "I didn't think you'd come," Xavier said warmly.  
  
"I almost didn't, to tell the truth."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"You probably knew I was having doubts, and that I would come eventually," McCoy replied as he accepted the wine from the waiter.  
  
"Yes, I knew."  
  
The big man raised his glass to Xavier. "To old times?'  
  
Xavier raised his glass and clinked it to McCoy's. "Old times."  
  
McCoy sipped his chardonnay and sucked in a breath. "I came for old times sake more than anything else, Charles. I spent the best years of my life at the school. And if coming to dinner with the old prof shows my appreciation for that, I consider it to small a gesture for such an immense debt."  
  
"You don't owe me, Hank."  
  
"Oh yes I do, and I know I've been a terrible ingrate lo these past few years."  
  
"You followed your calling, you fight the good fight, as it were."  
  
"But not in the way the others are doing."  
  
Xavier nodded. He knew that Hank felt like a coward for turning down his offer to become an X-man. He also knew that Hank doubted his worth as a fighter. He was better with words, more at home in a lab than in the thick of battle.  
  
Hank adjusted his glasses and sighed. "And this hearing, do you think anything will come of it?"  
  
Xavier held up his hands and shrugged. "The panel has no real power, it can only make reccomendations. But I beleive the powers that be will listen, and if there is an adverse finding...." Xavier stopped. There were no words that could describe his concern. He smiled, looked up at McCoy. "And I fear I already know what finding they will hand down."  
  
McCoy frowned. "You think they've made up their minds? So soon?"  
  
Xavier nodded. "The rest is a formality. Let the 'mutie lover' have some time to argue the point, let his views be spoken, then close his school down. I can hear their thoughts even now." Xavier closed his eyes and it seemed he would weep. "As a boy," he said, eyes still shut against the world. "I thought I would go mad. I could hear the lies, the hate, the hypocrisy of humanity, every day. Of course back then I couldn't control my powers. I heard every meandering thought waft by me as I walked down the street, heard things that a boy shouldnt hear. Then I learned that I could bend those thoughts to become what I wanted.Even wipe them out completely if I so desired." Xavier opened his eyes and looked at Hank McCoy. His eyes spoke of his pain. The most powerful psychic on earth. "And never have I ached to use my power in such a way until now. I wish to wipe these events from the minds of an entire population. I wonder what Erik would say to that."  
  
McCoy wondered what Erik Magnus Lensherr would say to Xavier's admission. Lensherr, who the world knows as Magneto, locked away in a federal prison cell made entirely of plastic to prevent him from using his mutant ability to manipulate magnetic feilds, put there because he used his powers against the population. That Xavier was contemplating something like this was almost surreal.  
  
Xavier smiled bitterly and looked away. "Does that make him right, Hank? Does that make a lie of everything I've taught those children?"  
  
"Your cause is a great one, Charles. Never doubt that for a second," McCoy replied. "But perhaps, if your dream is to survive..."  
  
"Ah yes. My dream. Humans and mutants living in harmony. Greater men than me have died for similar causes."  
  
McCoy had never seen Xavier like this. He had no words of consolation for him, only a warm smile. Words failed Hank McCoy very rarely. Xavier's confession had shaken him more than he was willing to admit. His old mentor, this man who taught young mutants to be heroes, was as human as the next man, and his powers were his blessing and his curse. The reality dawned on him that this great man was a cripple, one of the most powerful mutants on earth, and tortured like no other being.  
  
Xavier looked at McCoy with a wan smile. "I shouldnt have unburdened myself, Hank. I'm sorry."  
  
"I'm glad you did."  
  
Xavier finished his glass of wine and laughed softly. "Please don't be concerned. I've faced worse."  
  
"I don't doubt it. But do you really think you have no other way..."  
  
"No," Xavier said sadly. "I don't see any other way. As painful as it is, I have to protect my school. It is as simple as that." 


	6. Chapter Six

Sebastien pushed his food around idly with his fork. Almost a week had passed, and he was still being treated like a frail thing, like something that needed to be protected. Jean Grey monitored his health and was almost certain, she said, that he was going to be fine. Great, he thought. I'm not gonna die of anything but boredom.  
  
There was a tension between the adults in the mansion, and he was almost certain that there was an altercation behind closed doors late one night. Cyclops was sporting an ugly bruise on his temple, and talk amongst the students had Logan as the culprit. Sebastien could believe it. Logan always seemed to carry with him an air of violence, and that intruiged him. The more he thought on it, the more he liked the very idea of the man. This man's character was forged out of something deeper and harder than the average being. God only knew what he'd seen during his lifetime.  
  
Sebastien looked up and saw Chamber standing before him, on the other side of his table. He offered Chamber a smile. "If you wanna sit here, you don't have to ask."  
  
"I wasnt going to ask."  
  
Sebastien made a gesture towards a chair near Chamber. "Well, since you were going to be so impolite, don't let me stop you."  
  
Chamber sat and looked across at Sebastien, his hands clasped in front of him on the table. Sebastien pushed his food tray aside and smiled.  
  
"I saw you watching Logan on the basketball court," Chamber said.  
  
Sebastien shrugged. "Yeah?"  
  
"You admire him, don't you?"  
  
"I thought everyone admired him."  
  
Chamber nodded. "Yes, but they also fear him. They know what he's capable of. You've seen what he's capable of, and you're not afraid."  
  
"I think he's an interesting guy. He saved my life."  
  
Chamber sat back in the chair, and looked around the near empty cafeteria, then his eyes settled on Sebastien. "You see, I've been trying to figure you out."  
  
"Why?" The annoyance in Sebastien's voice made it sound like a whine.  
  
Chamber shrugged. "There seems to be more to you than meets the eye."  
  
"Don't make me your pet project."  
  
"Your arrival here has caused quite the stir," Chamber went on, as if Sebastien had said nothing. "The argument last night had a lot to do with you. And I think you know that."  
  
Sebastien raised an eyebrow. "Seems to me that there were troubles before I came here."  
  
"Whatever. It seems that tensions have risen in those around you. You seem to have that effect on people."  
  
Sebastien flinched, and stood up. "Well," He said. "Fascinating little theory you have there. Be sure to run it by your teachers in class."  
  
And with that, he walked out.  
  
  
  
Mrs. Blacksmith blew her nose and looked up at Morgan with red rimmed eyes. She sat in Morgan's cramped little office, her lawyer beside her. The lawyer was advising her not to say a word, that Morgan would have to drag them before a judge to make her talk if need be.  
  
"No," She said forcefully. "I think detective Morgan deserves the truth."  
  
Morgan sat back in his chair and kept his eyes on the woman, trying to keep any thought or emotion from tainting his gaze. He set down a tape recorder on his desk and the lawyer protested. "Is that really necessary?"  
  
Morgan shrugged. "Mrs, Blacksmith? Is the tape recorder bothering you?"  
  
She shook her head. Morgan smiled triumphantly at the lawyer.  
  
"You know that would never be admissable in court," He told Morgan.  
  
"Yes, thankyou for that, Perry Mason," Morgan replied. "I'm well aware." His tone softened as he addressed Mrs. Blacksmith. "Lets start. Now, when I last spoke to you, we discussed Jeremiah, and we talked of his family life."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You informed me that Eugine Blacksmith was the boy's father, when in fact he is not."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Morgan leaned foward in his chair and rested his forearms on his table. "Why did you tell me that?"  
  
She sobbed and looked at her lawyer, whose face was turning mottled pink. "You do not have to say anything," He warned her. "None of this helps his investigation."  
  
She waved a hand at him and looked at Morgan. "It was easier this way," She said in a soft voice, looking down at her lap. "I was so young when I met Jeremiah's father. Just a girl really.....Back then the only honourable thing was to get married before anyone knew you were pregnant. Jeremiah's father was not interested in becoming a husband or a father at such a young age, so he just took off. His ambitions took him to Washington, and I was left alone with my shame. That was until I met Eugine. He went down on one knee after only three dates, said he wanted to look after me, and he could provide for me. He never knew I was expecting, and when I finally did tell him, we were already married a week. He thought Jeremiah was his."  
  
She broke into sobs and covered her face with her hands. "And his real father, Joe Fabien, went on to work for the Friends of Humanity," Morgan said softly. "He helped establish a ragtag bunch of extremists into a well orchestrated political party."  
  
Mrs. Blacksmith nodded. "Yes, he did. And I never saw Joe again. I hoped that I could hide the past, and for the longest time, I got away with it. Eugene was a good father and Jeremiah adored him. But they were so different, almost polar opposites, physically and emotionally," She sighed deeply, and she looked into the middle distance, her eyes focused on nothing. She sounded like a little girl as she continued. "Things might have continued on like that, if it hadnt been for that letter."  
  
She reached into her purse and held out a stiff white envelope. Morgan took it and withdrew the letter inside, instinctively treating it like evidence, only handling it with the tips of his fingers. He read the letter slowly, and let the words sink in.  
  
The missing part of the puzzle.  
  
"Someone wrote that letter, sent copies to Jeremiah and Eugene. Jeremiah received his letter on the day of his 17th birthday."  
  
Morgan re folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. "You think somebody within the friends of humanity sent the letter?" He asked.  
  
"I think so. Jeremiah was so confused. Not only did the letter inform him that Eugene was not his father, but also it told him that his real father was an american hero, who died serving the Friends of Humanity. Jeremiah never forgave me for lying. He hated me for not giving him the chance to even meet his real father. He felt robbed of a real life, and then he disappeared."  
  
Morgan stopped the tape recorder, looked at Mrs.Blacksmith with a reassuring smile. "Thankyou," He said, and he meant it. "You've been most co operative."  
  
Mrs.Blacksmith nodded. "My honesty came too late though, didnt it? I've lost my son, and I betrayed the trust of a truly wonderful husband."  
  
Morgan had nothing to say to that. The lawyer leaned foward now, all pretense of a fight having left him. "Tell me, Detective," He said. "How did you come across this information?"  
  
"By mistake. I had a conversation with a young officer about soem aspects of this case, and he told me something that fired up my memory. Mrs.Blacksmith showed me some family albums when I visited, and I noticed a photo her and Joe Fabien. I didnt take much note of it at the time, but she was in the early stages of pregnancy in that photo.The date on the photo put it about a month before she met Eugene Blacksmith."  
  
"How did you know when she met Eugene Blacksmith?"  
  
"Another photo in the album. Titled 'Eugene and Mary", the date printed on the bottom."  
  
The lawyer sat back, claerly in awe. He looked to Mrs.Blacksmith, who just hung her head. There was nothing left to say. "I want him back, detective Morgan, and I have been truthful with you this time." She took a shuddering breath, then looked at Morgan with a steel gaze. "I believe Creed has my son."  
  
Morgan felt his stomach knot. She was voicing his own theory. Despite this, he said, "What makes you think that?"  
  
"Creed is the first and last person he'd run to right now. The man has an immense influence on my son. I don't trust the man, detective...." She broke off, then looked at the handkerchief in her fist. "...I think they are planning something terrible, too."  
  
Morgan nodded, tried to look calm. His palms were sweating and he wiped them on his trousers. "Mrs.Blacksmith..."  
  
"I spoke to the mother of one of those poor boys who died. Her son told her that the Friends of Humanity were in final preparations, that Creed wanted to make a statement to the world."  
  
"How is he meant to do that?" The lawyer asked, snatching the words out of Morgan's mouth.  
  
"I don't know. I wish I did."  
  
Morgan stood up and moved around his desk, shook hands with the lawyer, took Mrs.Blacksmiths hand in his. He understood this woman. "I'll bring him back," Morgan said quietly.  
  
She smiled sadly. "I know."  
  
  
  
Earl Landers downed his fourth whiskey in one quick, savage gulp. He wiped his moth with the back of his hand and his eyes watered, and he motioned for the bartender to pour another. The bartender complied, watching the big man warily. As the drink poured into its tumbler, the bartender looked up and his eyes brightened. Wiping his hands on his apron, he said, "Can I help you sir?"  
  
Landers played with his whiskey, fished an icecube out of the glass and crunched it between his teeth. He thought it was the height of rudeness to speak over somone's head like that.  
  
"Gin and tonic," The voice behind him said.  
  
Landers crunched another peice of ice and shrugged. The other man was beside him now, and he was short, with a shiny bald head, wearing a three piece suit. He looked kinda familiar....  
  
The other man spoke to him. "Mr. Landers."  
  
Landers turned on his barstool and saw that the bald man was in a wheelchair. "I'm him," Landers said.  
  
"I think it's time we talked."  
  
"What about?"  
  
"Something you started that I'm going to finish."  
  
  
  
Jean rubbed her temples and tried to concentrate. The papers in front of her were swimming in and out of focus and she could feel the weight of the past few days bear down on her. She sat up in her chair and stretched. There was no use trying to grade papers like this. She felt inclined to give them all a D in her present mood, and while some perverse side of her would have enjoyed doing it, the rational side told her to take a break.  
  
She pushed away from her desk and walked out of the room. The mansion was dark. Everyone was asleep. She padded through the dark hallways, sensing the rythmic harmony of the night, letting the dreams of others wash over her in waves.The deliciousness of such a feeling only tainted by the dark fringe of nightmares trying to invade.  
  
She went outside and felt the cool night air lift her hair. She closed her eyes and sighed. For some reason, she felt as if a great burden had been lifted from her body. The mansion sometimes felt more like a prison than a school. She walked out onto the manicured lawns behind the huge structure and made her way towards the pond. Sometimes she would sit at the pond for hours at night, picturing what life may have been like had she not chosen to join Xavier. She might have started her own medical practice in a quiet suburb, might have lived a "normal" life. But Charles Xavier sought her out.  
  
She remembered it clearly.  
  
Her first year in residency in an Emergency Room both amazed and exhausted her. She was fascinated by the human body's ability to cope with massive traumas and cruel tricks of nature, and she was inundated by the mental anguish that came with each case.  
  
One night, a young man stumbled into the ER, clutching his sides. Jean could see the blood seeping through his fingers at an alarming rate. His skin was pale and his brown hair clung to his sweaty forehead in tendrils. He was being assisted by a dark skinned young woman with strikingly white hair and equally striking pale eyes. Those eyes locked onto Jean's and she helped the young man to a trolley.  
  
"Please help," The woman pleaded.  
  
Jean lifted the young man's chin and smoothed his hair back from his face. He was weraing a pair of deep crimson wrap around sunglasses. "Take those off," She said in a cliiped tone. "I need to look at your eyes."  
  
He gritted his teeth. "Thats...Not really going to be possible..."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
The dark skinned woman nodded earnestly. "The glasses are not important. He's wounded."  
  
Jean nodded and pried the man's fingers away from his side. His black shirt was torn in ragged strips and his skin was shredded. "What caused this?" Jean asked as she inspected the bloody mess.  
  
"I kinda...got into a fight..."  
  
"With what? A bear?"  
  
"Something like that."  
  
Jean sighed. She knew he was lying, but she couldnt peirce his thoughts, or the thoughts of the dark skinned woman beside him. Odd.  
  
Several hundred stitches later, the young man was able to leave the ER, helped by his white haired friend. She watched them go and bowed her head, wondering how she was going to write this up in her report. The white haired woman reappeared in in the doorway minutes later, however, and she was walking alongside a bald man in a motorized wheelchair. He wheeled up to her and smiled.  
  
"Dr. Grey?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"My name is Charles Xavier. The young man you just treated is one of my students. I thought I might thank you personally."  
  
She smiled graciously. "It's not necessary, sir."  
  
He nodded. "I wonder how many words of thanks you get around a place like this," He said. "I beleive the only other person was the mother of a young man who...died after being shot. You did the best you could but he died on the operating table. She gave you a yellow flower. His name was Reece."  
  
Jean's eyes widened. "How did you--?"  
  
"Call it a gift. It's similar to the one you possess."  
  
"You can...You can..."  
  
Xavier laughed, but his lips didnt move. Then his voice echoed inside her head, larger than her, but contained inside her mind at once. "Yes, Jean Grey. I can read minds, just like you. I can teach you how to control your gift."  
  
He held out a business card with his name printed in bold letters, and an address for Xaviers School for Gifted Youngsters on the other side. "Come to visit us, Dr. Grey. If for nothing else, to check on your patient." 


	7. Chapter Seven

Creed has the boy.  
  
A part of Morgan had always known, Another part of him didnt want it to be so. There was simply no way he could go charging into Creed's compound with an army of heavily armed SWAT teams. He'd be laughed out of his captain's office if he sought such a thing. Nobody needed another Waco. Not now.  
  
Morgan grinded his teeth as he sat at the bar, nursing a beer. He considered driving up to Creed's front door and sticking a gun in his face, see where that took him. Subtlety is sometimes overrated. This case deserved a clean finish.  
  
On a TV above the bar, the late news had started. The bartender turned up the volume and looked at Morgan. "S'not bothering you, is it?"  
  
"No, not at all." Morgan looked up and sipped his beer. A man with an unfortunate face was standing behind a bank of microphones. Cameras flashed on him like strobe lights. He blinked rapidly and put his hands up for quiet. The media hushed down and the man began to speak.  
  
"What I have to say wont take long," The man said. "And I'm not going to answer any questions afterwards so dont bother askin'." The man took a breath and looked up. "I am here to put the record straight. I have made a terrible mess o' things. I was due to give evidence to the panel investigatin' Xavier's school today, and I was gonna tell em that my boy had been brainwashed by Xavier. But that isnt the truth. I was lookin for someone to blame when my boy ran away, and I didn't look to myself. I made up a story that people would swallow, hook line and sinker. I'm not proud of that. I have given the truth to the panel at the hearing today. I have told them that I lied. I was wrong. There isnt much more to say."  
  
Morgan frowned and took another swig of his beer. The newsreader reappeared on screen. "That was the scene just an hour ago, at a special press conference held by Earl Landers, the man who spearheaded the campaign against Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. The panel investigating the school had convened an emergency sitting, and it is expected that the panel will clear Charles Xavier and his school of any wrong doing. I am joined now by Dr. Henry McCoy, noted geneticist and mutant rights supporter. Dr. McCoy, do these revelations come as a suprise to you?"  
  
The screen split in two and Henry McCoy's face appeared next to the newsreader's. "I don't think anyone could have predicted this, Trish."  
  
"Have you spoken to Charles Xavier since the press conference?"  
  
"Only briefly on the phone. He was quite understandably pleased with these revelations."  
  
"And Proffessor Xavier is at the special hearing now?"  
  
"As far as I know, yes."  
  
"In effect, what does this mean for Xavier's school?"  
  
"I believe the school will be exonerated, and it will be allowed to operate as normal. I dont see that the panel has much else to do. But this is a bigger victory for truth, I think."  
  
"There has been widespread criticism about Mr. Landers' sudden about face, particularly from Graydon Creed. Mr. Creed has went so far as to insinuate that Earl Landers was forced to make these admissions. What is your response to that?"  
  
"Well, Trish, I cannot begin to speculate on what drove Earl Landers to do this, perhaps a guilty conscience. And Mr. Creed is the last person on earth who should talk about intimidation and bullying."  
  
"OK...We'll have to leave it there, Dr. McCoy. Thankyou for your time."  
  
"Thankyou Trish."  
  
"And WCNN will keep you informed of any developments as they occur. I'm Trish Tilby, goodnight."  
  
Morgan cocked his head to the side. Seems like everyone has Creed on their minds tonight.  
  
  
  
Jean sat back in shock. She closed her eyes and tried to contact Charles, but she could not sense his psychic signature anywhere. He was obviously cloaking himself. "Damn you Charles," She said aloud. "There might have been another way..."  
  
But she knew that he wouldnt have done something like this if there was a way to avoid it. She threw the remote aside and stood up, and called to Logan, Scott and Ororo with her mind, letting them know that she needed them urgently. Ororo appeared within a few moments, a worried look on her face.  
  
"Jean?"  
  
Scott and Logan entered the office within moments of each other. Both had come running at her call. A fine sheen of sweat covered Logan's face.  
  
Jean took a breath before speaking, pinched the bridge of her nose for a few seconds. "The school is out of danger," She told them, looking at each of them in turn. "Or so it seems. Earl Landers has issued a statement, saying he lied about his son's experiences here."  
  
"But thats wonderful news!" Ororo said. "Charles must be pleased. Did he call you?"  
  
"No," Jean replied. "And he is not answering my messages. I tried to reach him telepathically, but he has shut himself off from me."  
  
"So what's the problem?" Scott asked.  
  
"That peice o' shit wouldnt do this of his own free will," Logan said. "You think Charles could've..."  
  
Jean met Logan's gaze and crossed her arms over her chest. "I think he did. There is no other rational explanation."  
  
Scott shook his head, "But there is no way Charles would do something like that...."  
  
"If there was no other way," Ororo said softly. "Maybe if he felt this strongly, then..."  
  
"In any case, Charles said he would resolve this, and he has."  
  
They all fell silent. Jean was right.  
  
  
  
Chamber slept fitfully at the best of times. The very act of lying in bed was made awkward by his mutation. He was again reminded of the elephant man, who had to sit right up in bed because of his disfigurement. Against Chamber's eyelids, a dream played like a bad movie projected onto a limitless and terrifying screen. He was walking alonng the edge of a huge pool with crystal blue water. He could see his lithe black clad figure rippling across its glittery surface, and the reflection seemed more material than he was, and his reflection was beckoning to him.  
  
Chamber could see that the reflection wasnt his true reflection. He could see a handsome, young, whole face staring back at him, smiling invitingly. Under the water's surface, another figure swam in languid strokes. he could see the blonde hair catching light and reflecting every which way, making it a golden flare. He followed the underwater figure with his own reflection not far behind. He wondered if this person beneath the surface might drown.  
  
He kneeled by the lapping, sterile scented water-he wasnt aware that you could smell thing in dreams-and waved to the swimming person, trying to get their attention. Then, suddenly, the figure shot straight up and the face broke the water's surface. Sebastien stared back at him with his cool appraising eyes that seemed too large, and smiled at him. "Jonothan," Sebastien said with a voice that dripped with invitation. "Come on in, the water's fine."  
  
Chamber shook his head. "No."  
  
Sebastien rolled onto his back and floated parralell to the water's edge. "I think you're afraid of taking the plunge."  
  
Chamber shook his head again, a frown creasing his forehead. "You're wrong. I'm not afraid of the water."  
  
"I wasnt talking about the water this time."  
  
"What were you talking about, then?"  
  
"If you dont know yet, then you're not ready to hear it."  
  
"No, tell me."  
  
"I'm not really Sebastien, I'm you. Well, that part of your brain that wants you to know something. I'm here to make you realise, to open your eyes, let you accept things. But you are not ready."  
  
"When will I be ready?"  
  
A shrug from Sebastien. "Who knows?"  
  
"So what do I have to do to find out?"  
  
"Just wake up."  
  
Chamber opened his eyes and sat upright, and started when he saw a figure sitting on the end of his bed.  
  
Sebastien.  
  
"Jesus!"  
  
"I'm sorry for waking you. I wanted to talk."  
  
"You could have bloody waited until morning!"  
  
"Do you think something bad is about to happen?"  
  
"What?" Chamber was still trying to determine if he was talking to the real Sebastien and not some figment of his subconscious.  
  
"I feel it everywhere I walk in the mansion, on the grounds, and the feeling's growing. Like something is building up."  
  
"As I told you before, you have that effect on people."  
  
"I was wondering about that too."  
  
"Look, its late and I dont wanna wake Bobby. If you dont mind..."  
  
"I got to thinking about the night those guys attacked me. I started wondering what I did to deserve it, and maybe I brought it on myself, I dunno...But these guys...It was like they were possessed. I mean, they harrassed a few of the other boys who worked..."  
  
Chamber leaned foward and peered through the semi darkness at Sebastien, who was little more than an outline at the foot of his bed. "You worked the streets?" He asked.  
  
Sebastien nodded slowly. "I did what I had to do."  
  
"Wow."  
  
Sebastien shrugged. "I'm not ashamed of it, you know."  
  
"Nor should you be."  
  
"I was good at it, too."  
  
"I'm sure you were." Chamber laughed softly.  
  
"One of the other boys told me once that I seemed to get people to open up and be their real selves, let their emotions take over.It was you who made me recall that."  
  
Chamber shifted his weight on the bed, brought his knees up to his chest. "It's not the kind of past everyone could live with," He said.  
  
"Yeah, well, you cope. You deal with it, or it makes you weak."  
  
Chamber tilted his head downwards and looked at Senastien with his fringe. "Yes," He replied. "I know."  
  
  
  
Graydon Creed let cigarette smoke stream through his nostrils at an almost violent speed. He scratched his chin and looked up to one of his advisors. "Image is everything," He said in a half whisper, pinning the man with a hard gaze. "If you spend a decade cultivating an image, nurturing it, people tend to believe it. I am Graydon Creed, servant of the people, champion of genetic purity. People trust in what I stand for, and what my party fights to attain." He ashed the cigarette in a slow movement and smiled almost sadly, taking his eyes off the advisor. "Image is everything until it crumbles. Then, what are you left with? What happens when a hick opens his mouth to the world and dashes the plans which you have so ardously cultivated?"  
  
The adivor cleared his throat. "But Earl Landers hasnt really divulged anything about the party, sir..."  
  
Creed looked up at him. "No, he hasnt uttered a word. Publicly. His little....confession...has made a mockery of this party and its endorsements. So, I pose the question again, what do you do when your image is destroyed?"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
Creed stood up and crossed the room until he was inches away from the other man. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, his cold eyes gleaming. "You have nothing to lose now, really," Creed answered in a whisper, clapping his hand on the other man's shoulder, amking the man flinch. "You mobilize your troops and strike out at your enemies. I know that what Charles Xavier is capable of and I know he's behind Landers' outburst. I can smell him all over this."  
  
"But sir, you cant mean we attack Xavier's school?"  
  
"Its what we have been working towards all these years. Its why I have been training these fine young men in the art of war. And when the dust settles, Graydon Creed will be remembered."  
  
"But isnt this--"  
  
"Tell the men. They are to begin preparations. We will strike at them without mercy and without warning." 


	8. Chapter Eight

EIGHT  
  
In a plastic holding cell a few hundred feet underground, Erik Magnus Lensherr was allowed few luxuries. Almost anything with a metallic element was forbidden, including belt buckles, wire rimmed glasses, pens, cufflinks and loose change. A television in his cell was out of the question, and so he had to make do with the gaurds' morning paper (After he was finished with it, of course). He sat at his glass and plastic desk with the newspaper opened before him. Earl Landers' confession was a top story, and Erik read the article and following editorial with interest. He looked up and let a broad smile overcome him.  
"Oh Charles," He said to the empty cell. "I know you can hear me, even if you don't want to." He paused, allowing the simple truth sink in. "You would have the world believe that we are so different. We argued on this in Egypt all those years ago. Ours was an ideological difference, you said. I told you then, as I do now, that our goals are the same, the only thing that seperates us is our adherence to human law. Perhaps the only difference between you and I, old friend, is that I languish in this plastic cage for my crimes. Your cage will be of your own making."  
Then, as though physical distance were nothing, Charles Xavier responded telepathically. "Perhaps, Erik. We are similar in so many ways. If you know me at all you know I will pay the price for my actions with each beat of my heart. I had no choice."  
"I know. And Charles?"  
"Yes?'  
"I'm proud of you."  
  
  
Jeremiah could hear running just beyond the heavy metal door, could hear men shout up and down the corridors. Something was happening. They were preparing for. The battle that Creed so often prophesized? Could it finally be at hand? Some of Creed's most stirring speeches reffered to a battle, although the references were veiled so that only the true beleivers would understand. Jeremiah counted himself among them.It made his inside ache to think that the time was near and he was no longer among his brothers.  
He put his ear to the thick, cool ddoor and listened. He could hear the rythmic sound of metal sliding against metal, boots clanging this way and that, oreders being barked, and he wanted to be a part of it. He didnt want Creed to prevent him from realizing his destiny.  
then, as if someone had read his mind, the bolt slid back and the door swung open, flooding the little cell with light. Jermiah held his arm up to sheild his eyes from the blinding white fire. He blinked rapidly at the figure in the doorway, who threw a bundle of clothes at his feet.   
"Get ready," The voice said. "You're fighting with us."  
  
  
"Thankyou for your attentdence here today, Proffessor Xavier."  
Xavier inclined his head. He had been summoned to Judge Valery Sinclair's exspansive office when the news broke about Landers' public confession. She sat behind her ornate mahogany desk, fingers laced in front of her, looking at Xavier over her rimless glasses.  
"I'm glad you called when you did, your honor."  
"I want to be honest with you, Proffessor," She said, taking off her glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose. "And I trust I can speak to you in confidence?"  
"Absolutley."  
She sighed. "I did not believe Mr. Landers' allegations regarding your school, and I never considered an investigating panel very necessary based on one man's assertions. But we live in strange times, as I'm sure you know, and the political landscape is changing. Graydon Creed had a lot to do with the decision to assemble an investigative panel, and he is a very influential force with a lot of key players. The politics of bigotry rely on uncertainty of the unknown. When I was assigned as chair, I tried to make the panel as diverse and broad as possible, from both ends of the political and social spectrum. I was hoping for the best possible outcome." She paused and leaned back in her chair, smiling slightly. "Now, it looks like the very man responsible for the inquiry is also responsible for its closure. I have dissolved the panel, proffessor, and it looks as if your school is in the clear."  
Xavier smiled. "Thankyou, your honor."  
Sinclair stood up and walked over to the huge window directly behind her desk, looking out over a picture perfect view. The lake beyond was breathtaking. "Keep doing what you're doing, Proffessor," She said without turning. "Your fledglings are our future. Teach them to resist the flow of hate that seems to grow with every passing year, because that is the way to bring us together."  
Xavier was impressed. Sinclair knew of the school's true purpose, a fact that she seemed to mentally supress during the hearings. Perhaps there was more to judge Valery Sinclair than even Xavier could know.  
So now Xavier had his conclusion, that his school would be safe and his students protected.  
"I fear that my students will be fighting for quite some time yet, your honor."  
"You talk about such things as if this were a war."  
"Sometimes, it feels like it."  
  
  
  
Migraine headaches wreak havok with telepaths. Their powers are disturbed, wekened, or in some cases, blink on and off for hours on end. In Jean's case, her powers weaken to the point where even a faint empathic signal from a passer by is almost impossible. Proffessor Xavier sometimes suffered from this, too, and his only explanation for it was that Migraines attack those parts of the brain vital for telepathic and telekinetic ability.   
Jean rubbed her temples and tried to focus on the papers in front of her. At times, when the migraine wasnt as bad, she had to really concentrate on filtering out the different levels of psychic interference that was almost like radio static inside her head.   
She sighed heavily and decided to give up on the papers. A loud knock on the door startled her.   
"Come in."  
The door opened and Logan appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the doorframe and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Heard from Charley yet?"  
"No. But even if I wanted to I couldnt..." She pinched the bridge of her nose and then buried her face in her hands for a brief second.  
Logan nodded his understanding. "You need to take it easy, Jean. All of this stress can't be good for you..."  
'Thanks for the concern, Logan, but I'll be fine." Her standoffish tone cut through the air and Logan frowned.  
"I know you will."  
She looked up at him and smiled wanly. "You havent really been helping matters. You and Scott."  
He nodded again. "He doesnt deserve you, Jean..."  
She stood up and held up her hand, cutting him off. "I dont need this, right now, Logan..." She said.  
"You've always known how I feel. Even if you can't read my mind, you know how I feel."  
She lowered her head and said in a barely audible whipser. "Yes, I know."  
He walked into the room, and reached out to touch her arm. She moved away, arms still crossed. "He's beneath a powerful woman like you Jean. He hardly understands you..."  
"Oh, and you do?"  
"More than you know."  
She sighed and looked up at him, her green eyes shimmering. "You scared me when you first came here. I didnt like the way you made me feel when you were around..."  
"You were scared of me?"  
"Scared of myself around you. Sometimes I still am."  
He reached out again. This time she didnt shy away. His fingers pressed against her arm and she looked up at him with a veil of red hair framing her face. She could feel the heat of his fingertips through the thin fabric of her blouse, and she let a sigh pass through her open lips. "Logan. this cannot...."  
He held a finger up to her lips, and she frowned at him, but before she could protest further, he brought his mouth down over hers and kissed her like she'd never been kissed. She brought her hands up to his shoulders and let herself be dominated by him, by the sheer power of his arms cradling her, struggling not to crush her to him. She yeilded completely.  
He paused and drew his lips away from hers, then offered a smile. "Gimme half a goddamn chance, Jean."  
She sighed and opened her mouth to speak, her head on Logan's shoulder, but her word were snatched away by the slamming of a door. She looked up to see what the disturbance was, a frown shadowing her face, and she saw Scott standing in the office behind Logan.  
  
  
Night was fast approaching. The sun hung low in the sky, blood red in colour, turning the sky pink. Chamber sat outside the mansion, on its massive front steps, watching the sun make its low progress. His stomach felt tight and he couldnt shake the feeling that something was brewing. He knew that the adults had been under immense strain lately, and he knew some of it had to do with the love triangle between Cyclops, Jean and Logan. The other students gossiped and speculated on the nature of the triangle. Mostly, the whole issue just bubbled along under the surface, but lately it was being brought into the open. Chamber knew this couldnt be good. Something was wrong. It was heavy in the air.  
Sebastien was right. Chamber was afraid. At heart, he was scared that everything stable around him would come crashing down, and he hated Sebastien for making him admit it, and now couldnt keep the boy out of his head.   
  
  
Creed stood before the assembled troops with his hands clasped behind his back, like some monarch inspecting a brave fighting force. He paced before them slowly, making sure each and every set of eyes followed him. He drew a breath and thrust out his chest. "This is an important day," He said, his voice loud and filling the cavernous room they stood in. "The Friends of Humanity are going to fight for the cause, we are going to smash through the hypocrisy and the lies and burn that mansion and everything it stands for, to the ground. It is our responsibility, because nobody else will do it. It is our burden, and we shoulder it with pride. We have been building up to this day since the foundation of the party, and those who survive will remember it for the rest of their days. You will be considered heroes, my boys, my brothers. The mutie lovers will be silenced by the thunderous roars of approval that will greet us when the American public hears of our endeavours. Our adversaries have an unfair advantage over us, because we are simply clean, whole and true Homo sapiens. They like to call themselves "Homo superior". They are not natural, not part of God's true plan. This is what will give us strength, my brothers. Believe it and we will defeat them." He paused, scanned the faces of the young men before him. "We will destroy them. We will wipe them out, and burn them all to the ground, we will dance on their corpses and drink a toast to our success in the rubble of Xavier's mansion!"  
The assembly broke into wild hoots and cheers at this, and creed broke into a wide, satisfied grin. "Thats what I like to hear."  
  
  
Jean's pulse pounded in her temples as Logan let go of her, his eyes locked on Scott. She placed a hand on his chest fearfully, then looked pleadingly at Scott. For once, she didnt know what he was thinking. His face was carved granite, and his glasses glowed crimson. "No!" She said, and stepped in between the two men. Logan gently placed his hand over hers and moved foward.   
"Now you know," He said softly. His eyes blazed with emotion. "Now you know."  
Scott nodded. "You've got what you wanted," He replied with an even voice. "Congratulations."  
And with that, an optic blast of frightening intensity struck Logan and sent him hurtling through the window behind him.  
  
  
Ororo looked down at Chamber from her perch atop the belltower, and smiled to herself. She could remember when she would get lost in her thoughts as a teenager. The world seemed so big and scary and full of people that wanted to hurt you, and that feeling is only amplified by being a mutant.   
She looked up at the darkening storm clouds that covered the once blue sky, and she could smell the elecrticity charging the air, giving her a delicious thrill. Night time storms were her favorite. She sensed something in the pit of her stomach, like something brewing in the heavens, and she wanted to bring it on, if nothing else to give her a release from the stress of the week.  
Suddenly, the mansion shook and the sound of breaking glass jolted Ororo back to reality. It sounded as if Cyclops had blasted a hole through one of the walls. She stood up and called upon the winds to gently lift her up and clear of the belltower, then she willed the winds to take her in the direction of the disturbance. When she reached the source of the explosion, she descended, glass crunching under foot as she touched ground. Logan was lying in the middle of the debris and Cyclops was looking at her through a gaping wound in the side of the mansion, where Charles' office window had once been. Logan was rising slowly, shaking shards of glass out of his hair, looking up with murderous intent at Cyclops. The tiny wounds all over his face caused by the flying debris were healing over already, making him seem all the more dangerous.  
Ororo threw a glance at Jean, who stood behind Cyclops with a stricken look on her face. She knew Jean was the cause of this.  
"Logan," She said softly. "Now is not the time for this."  
Logan looked at her, his blue eyes burning.   
"I want you off campus, Logan," Cyclops said, his visor pulsing red. His voice was still a monotone, devoid of anything other than authority.  
Logan now stood in front of Cyclops and wiped his mouth. the tiny shards of glass in his hair glittered like diamonds against black velvet. When he turned to look at Jean, her breath caught in her throat. His eyes bored into her for a brief instant, before he turned his attention back to Cyclops. "Don't be stupid," Was all he said.  
"I'm not being stupid. I'm being rational. I'm doing what needs to be done," Cyclops replied. His visor glowed red with every beat of his heart. As darkness crept in around them and the sky turned purple, it stood out like a beacon.   
Logan shrugged. "It's not your call to make. And I think you're making a big mistake."  
"Logan," Cyclops said more forcefully this time, "I want you gone from here."  
Logan spread his hands and nodded, like he was being held at gunpoint. "Fine. I'm gone." He brushed off his lapels, looked at Ororo and offered her a smile, then turned and began to walk. Glass crunched under his boots as he cut across the manicured lawns and headed for the woods.  
"This is the right thing to do, Logan." Cyclops called behind him. "This should've happened long ago."  
But he didn't receive a reply. Logan dissappeared into the woods without looking over his shoulder.  
  
  
Night fell too quickly. The air crackled with anticipation of another storm, and the sticky heat enveloped everything. Most of the students sought refuge in the pool, but Sebastien stayed in his room, stripped down to his boxer shorts. He groaned and threw his arms up over his head. He wanted to beg the heavens to open up, but he didn't think anyone up there would be listening. He wondered why the mansion didnt have climate control in every room as he stared up at the fan that churned the hot air around, making things worse.   
Darkness seemed to chase itself at the corners of his eyes, like a playful pet or a menacing warning. He couldnt decide which.   
The door opened and jolted the thoughts out of him. Chamber stood in the doorway with light trying feebly to seep into the room all around him. He regarded the lone figure in the doorway before turning his head back to the pillow. "What do you want?" He asked softly.  
Chamber looked around the room as if there was a smell he couldnt detect hanging in the air, then shook his head. "Lately," He replied, his voice weaving its way into Sebastien's head. "Things around here have gotten...strange. Before you came there was calm. Everything was predictable. Stable."  
Sebastien lifted his head off the pillow and glared at him. "Oh? I am to blame for upsetting this places...balance?"  
"Possibly. Though I can't prove it."  
"Why are you here right now, Chamber?" Sebastien put the question to him as a challenge. He sat upright drew his knees up to his chin. Chamber shifted from foot to foot, and folded his arms around his waist like it was the only thing that could protect him.  
"I think you feel it. Something's not right...The adults...I mean, the team....They're falling apart out there. We almost lost the school and Xavier finally found the balls to do something about it...I honestly think we're not over the worst of it."  
Sebastien sat in silence and propped his chin on his knees while he contemplated Chamber's words. Of course he felt it. He couldnt articulate what his feeling meant up until Chamber gave voice to them, but he refused to accept he was the cause of everything. How could one boy bring about such change? How could Chamber know?  
"And whatever you've done to this place, its infected me..." Chamber's voice took on a far away distance that chilled Sebastien. "You've invaded my dreams, Sebastien. Everything is crumbling and I dream of you. Is this your power? Jean thinks you're one of us. She thinks maybe telepathy. But I don't think even you know what your power is...What it can do..."  
Sebastien felt tears sting his eyes. He looked away and hugged his pillow to his chest. "Tell me what it is if you know," He said softly into the pillow. "Because I want to know how to stop it."  
Rain started to fall heavily outside, bringing with it an angry growl of thunder and fingers of lightning scattered across the light grey sky. Chamber looked up and wondered if Storm was responsible. The lights in the hallway flickered as the lightning turned the sky white. The constant tattoo of the rain on the roof was building in intensity.  
Sebastien glared at Chamber. "I suppose this is my fault too?" He said mildly.  
The lights flickered again, this time straining to stay on...In the hallway lightbulbs popped as the surge continued. Sebastien looked at Chamber's silhouette against the dimming light before the mansion was plunged into darkness.  
  
  
Jean sat in the kitchen and sipped coffee, bathed in the unnatural blue light of the florescent emergency lamps above. Ororo entered and accepted the mug offered by Jean. "The students are safe," She said as she sat down opposite Jean. "Theyre in good spirits...Most want to know why the backup generator didnt kick in straightaway."  
Jean smiled weakly. "I'd like to know that too. We've had power surges here before and it usually starts up within a minute of the primary power failing."  
Ororo nodded. "I know. But things fail from time to time. Sometimes they fix themselves."  
Jean looked sharply at her friend, whose hair was electric blue in the light. Ororo's eyes took on the sparkling blue also. "You think I could have stopped what happened." It was a statement, not a question. She didnt need her powers to know what Ororo meant.  
Ororo sighed. "You could have handled things differently," She answered slowly. "Its not my place to say what is best for you, Jean, but surely you knew this would happen eventually?"  
Jena looked into her coffee, her red hair spilling over her shoulders and her face stark white in the light. "I knew it, and I thought I could....Control it.Scott is wonderful, he's a reliable man, and he has a good heart....And Logan is..."  
"Something different?"  
Jean nodded. "Whatever that something is, it's powerful, and I cant help but feel attracted to it."  
Ororo nodded and sighed into her coffee. There was a truth that nobody could deny in Jean's statement. She too, once felt the pull of Logan's charisma, it was inescapable. He was not even aware of his effect on people. She lifted the mug to her lips and looked up at jean, who seemed lost to her contemplation. the darkness around them was unnerving coupled with the silence that filled the room. The wind rustled leaves outside and rain spattered against the window panes. "Do you think we've lost him for good?" Ororo asked.  
"I wish I could say. But even with my powers I could never work out what goes on in his mind. I can't read him, but I know him. He doesnt turn his back on friends."  
Ororo opened her mouth to speak but turned her head to the window when a sharp click rang through the heavy air. She frowned into the darkness outside, and her eyes widened. She was looking at a black clad figure, holding a rifle, it's laser sight trained on her. She gasped and Jean registered that something was not right, just a split second before the first shot shattered through the glass.   
The hit the ground in unison as debris showered around them. Another burst of machine gun fire could be heard in the distance. Jean gave Ororo a frantic look and saw it mirrored in Ororo's face. People were screaming nearby but the hail of bullets kept on coming, mercilessly.   
Then, it stopped. The silence fell in around them again and gunpowder hung like a shroud in the kitchen, the blue flurescent light making it look like a living thing. Jean strained to hear something-anything-that might signal another attack, but could hear none. Even the distant screams had ceased. Ororo moved closer to her and whispered, "Why did they stop?"  
Jean shrugged her response. Her more immediate question was, who are they? The silence was now giving Jean hope that the attack was indeed over, that perhaps the attack was thwarted befor it began.  
No such luck. A silver cylinder came sailing through the broken window and clattered to the ground with a hollow ping. It came to rest a few inches from Ororo's face, and she turned to Jean. "What is it?" Jean asked.  
Ororo grabbed her friend's hand in response and hoisted her up into a crouching position, so that they were still sheilded from view of the window. "We have to get out of here," She hissed. "Now!!"  
Jean nodded and followed Ororo, still crouching. Ororo looked back once they reached the doorway, then stood up fully. "Run!!" She screamed.   
Then, the kitchen exploded into raw fire that seemed to chase them as they ran down the hallway. Explosions all around them shook the mansion and fire spewed forth from almost every open space. Kids were running in every direction, and once they caught sight of Ororo and Jean, ran towards them. A frightened Sam Guthrie gulped for breath in front of Jean. "Ms. Grey! What's going on?'  
"I don't know, Sam," She replied, and grabbed him by the arm, motioning for the other students to follow her. The started down a hallway where the fire had not licked its way through, and she punched a code into a panel beside the elevator door. "But for right now, I want you all to get down to the danger room and stay there. Even if this place burns, the danger room will still be intact." She gripped Sam's shoulder and tried to smile encouragingly, but Sam could see the fear in her eyes too.   
"Shouldnt we stay here an' fight with you?" He asked. "Thats what we're training for, isn't it?"  
"No, Sam, I can't allow it. We need you all to stay safe, because if we can't handle this," She took a breath and ran a hand through her hair. "Who is going to take our place later?"  
Sam gave her a confused look. The elevator door slid open and she pushed Sam inside while Ororo ushered the others behind him. "Whatever you do, whatever happens, stay down here. I'm locking down the lower levels." She punched another code into the control panel, and it beeped at her. She looked up at Ororo. "The system is asking me to confirm security lockdown. We've got backup power in the lower levels." She punched the confirmation sequence into the pad and it glowed red, then went blank. "Now, no one is going to touch these kids." 


	9. Chapter Nine

NINE

[Command History:]

//Power failure in all major areas. Backup power sequence initiated automatically.

....

//Security breach. South perimiter fence

...

//Security breach. Main gate.

...

//Backup power failure. All areas.

...

//Lockdown sequence entered using override code: Danger room, lower levels. Elevator lockdown. 

...

//Automatic enabling of alternate power source failure.

...

//Attempting search for alternative power sources. 

Scott slammed his fist against the wall. "Dammit!! They must've used the power failure to get through the gate before cerebro was able to detect them! We had no security for those few seconds."

Sebastien looked at the computer screen and frowned, then looked at Scott. "The lockdown. Who initiated that?"

"Jean is the only one with the code for a full lockdown. The lower levels are all sealed now."

"How can the lower levels still have power if the rest of the mansion doesn't?"

Scott opened a steel cabinet and pulled out a grey metal visor. Closing his eyes, he took off his ruby glasses and slipped on the visor. "The proffessor designed the lower levels as a place of refuge in event of an attack. It is equipped so that it can be locked down and people can survive down there for years if need be. There is a massive water tank, food supplies and a limitless source of energy. That energy source is now powering the mansion's computer, because the computer's 'brain' lives below," He regarded Sebastien for a few moments, then smiled grimly. "We've never had to use it before now."

"So it's never been tested, in other words."

Chamber's words made them both turn. "Well, I geuss now's as good a time as any for a trial," Scott replied.

Chamber shrugged. "Helluva time to test your limits, wouldn't you agree?"

"It looks like we've been attacked," Scott said redundantly. "I dont know if Jean and Ororo are OK. Logan's gone, and these goons are probably already inside the mansion."

"Where is Logan anyway?" Chamber's eyes bored into Scott. 

"Not...here."

Sebastien looked anxiously to Scott, then Chamber. "But we can't fight these bastards all by oursleves!"

Scott pulled on a jacket and handed similar ones to the boys. "We've faced worse," He said firmly. "You two should be with the other students, but we can't access the lower levels now. So for now you stick with us and stay as far away from these bastards as possible."

Ororo and Jean hurried down the corridor and emerged in the lobby, the only really open space in the mansion. Jean noticed their mistake too late, and as she grabbed Ororos hand and tried to run back to the refuge of the corridor, the glass roof shattered under a barrage of gunfire. Shards of polished wood flew up at their feet as they ran, the expensive oriental rug shredded instantly. Ororo could see Jean was heading for the stairs, and looked back quickly. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw four black clad men drop through the broken ceiling, aiming at them with their guns....She screamed at Jean a split second before the second barrage of gunfire thudded into the wall like thunder. Jean slammed into the stairs and covered her head, and yelled something at Ororo, which was lost on the unrelenting tattoo of bullets destroying everything. 

Ororo took a breath and looked up at the open hole in the ceiling. Rain poured in from the gaping wound of plaster and glass and she could see the storm clouds brewing above. She closed her eyes and tilted her face heavenwards, calling on the winds to come to her aide.

The men below didn't know what hit them. The wind was like a solid wall, and it picked them up and sucked them through the hole they had made. Ororo looked down at Jean, who was holding onto the bannister for dear life, her hair a tangled mess of red. She touched Jean's arm softly and Jean opened her eyes. "They're gone," Ororo said. "We have to move before the others find us."

Jeremiah stood in the rain and watched as another wave of men went into the masion. They were being sent on in lines. Graydon Creed stood to the side, watching silently as others barked orders. Smoke rose up from different parts of the huge building. 

"We dont know what they have up their sleeves," Creed said to one of the men beside him. He watched as fire licked at a window pane above. "The one they call Storm is still alive. She attacked a group of men when they breached the ceiling above the staircase."

"She'll be taken care of."

"What else do we know?"

"Judging by the infared scans, we're looking at a handful of mutants inside. Three in the upper levels and the two women on the stairs."

Creed nodded and clasped the other man on the shoulder. "Keep an eye on it. They could be hiding the others."

"Right."

Creed turned and looked at the line of men before him. "Right," He barked, causing Jeremiah to jump. Creed eyes slid over each man before he continued. He could have been gravely assessing his fighting unit, or just making sure he had everyones attention. He took a breath and continued in the same authorative boom. "Second wave. Your job is important. First wave have shut off security and smashed a way into the mansion. Now it's up to you to search the thing and flush out any muties hiding within. They will retaliate. Make no mistake. Just remember your training. Remember who is the superior race here." He took a breath as of to say more, but instead he leaned back and clamped his mouth shut. "Now go."

Thunder rolled overhead as the men roared and filed into the mansion, one by one, weapons held high over their heads like prizes. Jeremiah looked up at Creed quickly as he followed the others, and Creed looked down at him, his eyes burning intently. And as Jermiah emerged inside the mansion, one thought hit him like a house brick:

Why isn't Creed fighting with us?

The students flinched as another barrage of gunfire ripped through the silence, muted by the layers of steel and concrete between them and the battle above. Sam Guthrie looked at Bobby, who held one of the younger students to his chest as the child sobbed uncontrollably. "They can't get in here, right?"

Bobby looked up as another explosion popped and the walls vibrated. "I don't think so. Jean wouldn't have locked us down here otherwise."

Sam crossed the room to the elevator door, and examined the control panel. He pressed a few buttons randomly, but the panel did not activate. He looked back at the small group of scared mutants, and anger flashed in his eyes. "We should be up there with them. They can only hold out so long..." 

Bobby scowled, and looked at the younger students, their eyes wide with fear. Sam was scared, he knew, but he was making the others just as anxious. "They know what they're doing, Sam," He replied with bravado, and a quick smile at the other students. "They'll be OK."

"Ah hope so. Because if they come down here looking for us..."

"Sam, just chill. Nothing bad is gonna happen. Rememebr what Logan always says? You have to deal with things one at a time, as they come up, or otherwise you'll drown in the what if's. Let the X-Men deal with this, and we deal with whatever comes our way."

Sam shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground. He knew Bobby was right, and he was mad at himself for letting the cold grip of fear spread in his chest. He looked at the empty Danger Room and wondered how long it could contain them, and how long he could contain the fear swelling inside him, threatening to swallow him whole.

Cyclops held out an arm as he approached a corner, signaling for the two boys to stay put. Sebastien flattened out against the wall and Chamber slowed in front of him. Cyclops lifted his other hand to his visor, where a tiny button was set into it's side. One tap of the button would flip open the ruby quartz lens and release a devastating amount of energy from his eyes. The visor glowed hot red in pulses as he crouched and peeked around the corner. They were standing in the hallway outside the ready room, and just beyond was the staircase leading to the lower levels. 

Just as Cyclops had expected, there were three operatives ducking in and out of rooms on the second floor, guns leading them as they swept the areas for signs of life. Smoke wafted up from the kitchen and some of the dorm rooms. A fire alarm clanged redundantly in the distance. 

Cyclops looked back at the boys. "Three of them below us," He whispered. "We head for the stairs right now and we won't even make it to the second landing. They're sweeping each room systematically, so it's only a matter of time before they reach this level....'' He sighed and wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. 

"Is there any other way down?" Sebastien whispered back.

"No. The power outage also took out the elevators, and even if I did know how to re activate them, I wouldn't dare. They'd have the elevator doors covered."

"What now then?" Chamber asked.

Cyclops hesitated, then drew in a breath. Before he could answer, Chamber stood up and cocked his head to look below. "There are only three of them, you said."

Cyclops nodded. "You have an idea?"

"Yeah, but it's not a very smart one."

Cyclops' jaw muscles bunched. He was grinding his teeth. "What do you--"

Chamber stood and ran at the balustrade with astonishing speed. He grabbed the smooth railing and launched off it with effortless grace, landing without sound on the second floor seconds before one of the commandos emerged from an open door. 

The commando had no time to react. Chamber struck with force and without mercy. The other man was felled by a sheer wall of energy. Cyclops watched on as Chamber quickly knelt beside the unconscious young man and took his weapons. Sweat slid from Cyclops' brow as Chamber stood up and checked the gun. Cyclops leaned forward and hissed at Chamber to go and hide. But his words didn't reach him in time; one of the other men emerged from a nearby open door with his gun drawn, its laser sight trained on Chamber's forehead. The commando moved forward just out of Chambers line of vision.

"Hey!!"

Both the commando and Chamber snapped to look up. Cyclops used the opportunity to strike. He pressed the release button on his visor and hit the commando square in the chest, knocking him back into the wall behind them. The sound forced the remaining commando to leap out of the open dorm room ahead of chamber. Chamber let off a short burst of gunfire, pumping the man's kneecaps with bullets. The young commando screamed, and Chamber crossed the floor quickly, kneeling before him, and in one savage motion, knocked him out cold with the butt of the gun.

Cyclops jumped down to meet Chamber on the second floor, followed by Sebastien. "You were right," Cyclops said as he looked at the fallen commandos, making sure each one was down for the count. "That wasn't very smart."

Chamber grabbed the gun lying next to the man he shot, and threw it to Cyclops, who regarded the gun as if it was tainted. "Where did you learn a stupid move like that?" He asked, looking up from the gun.

"One of Logan's stories." Chamber replied, his eyes meeting Cyclops'.

"Oh." Was all Cyclops had to say.

"Where do we go now?" Sebastien asked, looking from the unconscious militia men to Cyclops and Chamber.

Cyclops knelt next to one of the men and patted his uniform down in a few quick motions. He looked up. "No communication devices, no ID...We have no way of knowing where they are. Which means we have to tread carefully."

Chamber nodded. "Lets get out of here."

"Morgan, take a seat."

Captain Harry Kaminski motioned to a cracked leather seat in front of his desk. Morgan had been summoned to the Captain's office immediately upon his return to the station. He did as instructed and tried to make himself comfortable in the stiff backed chair, crossing his legs at the knee, waiting for Kaminski to speak. 

Kaminski was a battle tank of a man. He wore his uniform crisp and clean at all times, even polished the brass nameplate on his desk. His brow sloped into an angry frown most of the time, and his thin lips and square jaw made him look like something out of Dick Tracey. Morgan had actually graduated the academy in Kaminski's class, but ended up nowhere near his league. This man made a career of politics, and showed something akin to distaste for the day to day mundanities of police work. He looked at Morgan now with hard little eyes, the same blue grey colour as his hair. "You're a good cop, Vic," Kaminski began as he took his own seat behind the desk, sighing as he did so. "Probably one of the best we have. One of a dying breed."

"Thankyou," Morgan replied. He was too polite to say what he meant. Almost as an afterthought, he added "Sir."

"This case you've been chasing, Vic. The one involving those kids..."

"Yes sir?"

"Vic, I don't think I've ever told you in the twenty years I've known you to leave something alone,because you do good work. You get results. But I don't think in the twenty years I've known you that a case has touched so many raw nerves."

Morgan picked at a loose thread on his jacket, and let it flitter to the floor. He knew where this was going, and he decided against righteous indignation. "You want me to leave the case alone sir?"

Kaminksi's straight eyebrows raised as he stared at Morgan. Something flashed in those dark eyes before he spoke. "Cases like this can get very sensitive, Vic, I'm sure you know that. And normally I'd say knock yourself out, follow this to its conclusion. But this is not a normal case. It has touched on a dangerous fringe group, and a very powerful family. We're taking a lot of heat from some influential people to leave this one alone."

Morgan drew a breath and laced his fingers over his belly. He gave the captain a smirk and shrugged. "In the twenty years I've known you, sir, I don't think I've ever told you how arrogant and self serving you are. I simply don't respect a cop who kisses a politician's ass to further his own career."

Kaminski rose from his chair, knuckles leaning on his desk. His jaw moved in a side to side motion, as if he were grinding the words up in his mouth before speaking. He glared at Morgan for a few interminable seconds. Morgan didn't shift from the other man's gaze. 

Morgan shrugged. "Me, I'm sitting here wondering what possible reason you'd have for pulling the plug on a case like this. You've never shied away from high profile cases before. Why start now?"

Kaminski licked his lips and leaned forward as if about to impart some crucial secret to Morgan. His knuckles were turning white against the ink blotter on his desk. "This case was a wash up from the word go. I'm sure you smelled something off early on?"

Morgan shook his head. "The goal was to find the bad guys, maybe even make a wrong thing right." He uncrossed his legs and leaned his forearms on his knees. "I've seen more complicated cases."

Kaminski pointed a finger and curled his lips into the approximation of a smile. "How do you solve a crime without a victim? How do you establish what happened with suspect gone AWOL and a victim that may not even exist? This case ever gets to trial, the defence will have this laughed out of court. So tell me, Vic, what is it worth?" 

Morgan sighed loudly and rubbed his face with his hands. "It's worth something," He replied behind his hands, "I know where to find the third suspect. But I need a warrant to find out if I'm right." His eyes were red rimmed when he looked up at Kaminksi. He was exhausted. His whole body looked as if it were running on nothing but hope. 

Kaminski sucked in his breath and strode around the desk. He looked as if he were going to approach Morgan, then thought the better of it, and perched himself awkwardly on the edge of the desk. "Look at you, Vic," He replied softly. "What you need is some time off. You've been working solidly for god knows how long. When was your last vacation?"

Morgan shrugged, too tired to give a verbal response. Kaminski creased his brow in concern, and produced a stiff white envelope from his breast pocket. Morgan looked up and regarded Kaminksi as his hand stretched across the chasm between them, almost in slow motion, and offered it to him. When Morgan didn't move, Kaminski dropped the envelope in his lap. "I had to make a few calls, clear it with the union, but I was able to pull it off. I'm granting you extraordinary leave, effective immediately."

Morgan stared at the envelope and looked up at Kaminksi. "Extraordinary leave?" He echoed, eyebrow arched with suspicion.

Kaminski nodded. "I think you deserve it."

Silence fell quickly in the expansive office. Morgan still made no move to open the envelope. Kaminski spread his hands after a few seconds and shrugged. "Well, Detective, if it's a matter of money, I can assure you--"

Morgan stood up, and the envelope fell to the ground. His hands were bunched into fists and his face was twisted with fury. "I do not wish to take extraordinary leave. Sir." His voice came clear and seemed to strike something within Kaminksi, who stood bolt upright too.

"I don't think you understand....You do not have a choice here," Kaminski shot back. "It's either this or you take a suspension without pay. Now I think I'm being generous with this offer, Vic. Don't throw it back in my face."

"Suspension? For what?"

Kaminksi sighed heavily and walked back behind his desk, opened a drawer, and slid a file across the ink blotter. Morgan knew what it was without having to read the label. It was the Blacksmith file. Kaminski sat in his leather chair slowly, and tapped his hand on the file. "Nothing goes on in this department without my knowledge, Vic, you know that. When Ruby accessed the file, a flag went up on the retrieval system and a report was generated..."

"Ruby had nothing to do with this..."

"Now calm down. All I'm saying is that unless you take extraordinary leave, I will have no choice but to suspend you and Ruby pending an investigation by the integrity tribunal."

Morgan's face fell. Kaminksi had played this out liked it was scripted. In one conversation, he had threatened Morgan's future with the force, his reputation, and Ruby's too. Kaminski knew that Morgan would have to bend over and take it because his loyalty would always get the better of him.

"So I ask you again, Detective Morgan," Kaminski said, leaning back into his chair. "What is this case worth to you?"


	10. Chapter Ten

**TEN**   
Bobby sat cross legged on the floor of the danger room, the group of students around him forming a circle. One of the kids had asked him why the Friends of Humanity hated them, and he honestly didn't know how to answer that. He didn't quite understand the politics of hate either. He didn't understand why it was so dangerous to be a mutant, or a gay person, or a refugee. His only answer, perhaps to his own questions than anything else, was simple and unerringly accurate. "Because the majority of people are _not_ mutants," He raised his hands in wonder and looked around the small group of outcasts, their faces upturned to his own. He smiled as warmly as he could and shrugged. "And the majority of people are not comfortable with difference. The Friends of Humanity want to exaggerate our difference and make sure we don't become what they fear most."  
"What is that?" Sam said from across the room.  
Bobby sighed heavily. "I guess, they don't want us...mutants..to be equal. Because they think they're superior. And that makes them jerks, right?"   
There were general nods of assent among the small throng. Bobby's explanation seemed to somehow deepen their understanding of something that loomed big and black and large in their visions. Some of them smiled. Others just looked sadder. Bobby wondered if what he said empowered these young mutants, these future X-Men, or ruined their childish hopes that one day being different wouldn't matter. Maybe it was better that they knew the truth from early on. Xavier's dream was not going to come to pass while ever the Friends of Humanity were there to bring about its destruction.  
A dark thought crossed Bobby's mind just then: What if the Friends of Humanity did succeed tonight? What would happen in a world where there were no X-Men left to fight them?  
Sam crossed the floor to where they were sitting, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. His face was pale and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. His blonde hair was plastered to his forehead and his eyes had a faraway glint to them. "I don't like this. Why is it quiet up there?" He demanded, looking upwards.   
Bobby sat still and listened. Sam was right. The explosions above had stopped, and the dull sound of gunfire was a memory. Bobby looked upwards as well, then his eyes settled on Sam's, wordlessly asking the question, "_Is it all over?_" 

Fire bordered Jean's vision as she rushed down yet another hall. The mansion had become a giant rat maze thanks to the blaze that licked every part of it. Ororo clutched her hand as they rounded another corner, skidding slightly on the polished wood and breaking into a sprint towards Xavier's office. Ororo could hear footsteps thudding loudly on the floor behind them, gaining speed, and getting louder with every second. She looked over her shoulder long enough to see a young militant round the last corner, gun held level with his eye. He stopped abruptly in the middle of the burning corridor and fired one shot cleanly.   
The bullet hit it's mark. Ororo felt an explosion in her shoulder, which ripped her off her feet. She heard Jean call her name, and felt Jean topple over with her. Blood filled her mouth, her vision, as she tried to call the winds, call the thunder, anything. But she was fading fast. The sound of her head smashing against the polished wood registered dimly and she stared in front of her, watching the black boots of the young gunman approach.  
She was out cold before his boot struck her jaw.

**** Creed strode through the burning hallways in a tailored suit, hands clasped behind his back, a group of young men trailing in his wake with guns pointed every which way, eye darting in every direction. He looked every bit the president he aspired to be as he let his gaze sweep over the devastation his troops had brought about. His mouth was curved into a smirk. He turned to talk to his right hand man. "It was just the two women?" He asked.  
The other man nodded and listened to a report crackled over his ear piece before replying. "Yes, sir. They were apprehended outside the main office. Still no sign of the others."  
Creed nodded. "Tell the men to be wary of the mutant known as Wolverine. He has combat training and could be more difficult to pin. They are to approach him with caution."  
"But we have no intelligence that would indicate he is even inside the mansion, or on the grounds...."  
Creed stopped walking, causing the men behind him to skid to a halt. He clapped a hand on the other man's shoulder, causing him to flinch. Creed's fingers bit deep into his muscles. "Listen to me very carefully. If there is one mutant that we should even come _close_ to fearing, it's him. He's not like the others. It will take more than firepower to bring him down. If any man here gets a visual, he is not to engage this mutant in any way unless he has full back up, and I am to be informed immediately. Understood?"   
The other man swallowed and nodded before Creed released him. Creed turned away and walked towards Xavier's office with his men following. One of them opened the door for him, and entered the room first, leading with his gun drawn. Creed strode in and looked down at Jean Grey, who was being held by her hair and forced to sit in Xavier's chair. Her chin dripped with blood and she was struggling to speak. Creed stepped over the unconscious Storm and sat on the edge of Xavier's huge desk. Jean tried to struggle free of her captor's grasp, but he wrenched his fist into a tighter ball of her hair. She winced and groaned, but did not take her green eyes from Creed.  
"Dr. Grey," He said by way of greeting, and smiled at her like she was a guest in his home. "My name is Graydon Creed."  
She spat blood onto the floor, and glared at him, red hair falling over her brow. "I know who you are."  
"I trust you know why I'm here?"  
Jean seemed to consider this. Her face took on an almost serene expression, despite the indignity of her situation. "Yes, I know why you're here, and you won't win."  
His smile didn't waver as he shrugged, and nodded to the man holding Jean. She was yanked out of the chair and dragged around the desk. Creed sat in the leather chair and leaned back, surveying the damage to the wall caused by Scott and Logan's brawl. Outside, the rain had subsided to a thin drizzle. On the manicured lawn, puddles danced with the reflection thrown by the fires above. "Look around you. The world Charles Xavier built up for his freaks. It's burning to the ground." He swept a hand in front of him to illustrate his point. His eyes flickered on Storm's prone body, briefly, before he continued. "This is a great day for humanity. This is but the first in a series of strikes we anticipate will follow, carried out by other groups, other visionaries and saviors."  
Jean curled her lip at him. She was fairly hanging from the other man's fist. "Nothing you do here tonight will be regarded as heroic. They will lock you up and call you a madman. Your name will not go down in history, and people will not respect you...." She drew a breath and her eyelids fluttered as if the energy of having to talk was draining her. "...And there will be other mutants willing to fight you. Or men just like you, because your hate is not unique."  
Creed cocked his head to the side and his amused expression melted away. Thunder rolled like the growl of a faraway great cat. Scowling, he rose from the chair and seemed to consider what to do now he was on his feet. His dark eyes flared with omnipotent rage. "What is it your precious Xavier, this so called _Great Man_, calls it? The X-Factor. It is the single cell mutation that sets humans apart from mutants." He raised an eyebrow at Jean, who was at once disgusted and surprised that he had even bothered to read any of Charles Xavier's books, much less quote from them. "And it makes a mockery of god's plan. Men were created equal. No one man should have advantage over his brothers." He was rambling, struggling to make his point, or to impress upon her what he so thoroughly believed in, and she could see the frustration in his eyes. He was like a petulant child who after a long and loud tantrum, had achieved that which he cried and wailed over, and now didn't know what to do. His fists were clenching and unclenching like meaty butterfly wings and he looked like he wanted to strike at something. She hoped it wouldn't be her. He caught her staring at him, and stopped still, his body dangerously immobile. His eyes bored into hers as if he were trying to read something within. Then it struck her.  
_He doesn't know I've lost my powers._ The narrowing of his eyes as he regarded her confirmed this; he was trying to block his thoughts. The beads of sweat forming on his brow were indication enough that he had let some thoughts cross his mind that she could use to some advantage.   
She decided to make a gambit. She licked her lips and tried to pull herself upright, but the soldier behind her simply tightened his grip on her hair. She winced before taking a shuddering breath. "I know what drives you, Creed," She said slowly. "And too many people see it as jealousy, but both you and I know that's wrong. You are righting an enormous wrong that has been dealt you and the rest of the world. Why should only some be bestowed with gifts that border on the magical, the superhuman, the fantastic? Why should others be left behind?"  
He flinched, but made no move towards her. It was if her point was physically striking him. If she strayed too much, or took a big enough leap, she had no doubt that he would see through her like Logan did whenever they played poker and she had a killer hand. "Why are so many families cursed with a child with such extreme deformities or powers dangerous enough to kill someone if they so desired? And why is it that the cruel twist of fate, the X-Factor, can completely skip someone and leave them ordinary, helpless...Powerless..." She watched his face in profile, and she could see something in his look. The way his face seemed to slacken and his posture slumped. She was on the money, but with each word she brought herself closer to that imaginary cliff face, where he could either jump or push her over. "I'll tell you right now, Creed, I wish I didn't have to hear what goes on in the minds of normal people. I wish I didn't have to share their secrets, listen to their lies and intrude on their fantasies. I sometimes ache to be able to look at someone and not know what they're thinking. I would trade it in a second, but it's something I cannot change. My parents had no control over it, just like your parents had no control over you being _human_."  
The last word seemed to shatter his composure in that instant. He turned to face her in what to her felt like slow motion, because in that few seconds she knew she pushed that little bit too far; she pushed him closer to the edge of that cliff than he was ready to go. She let a little sigh escape her lips, which was meant to come out as an entreaty, but for some reason was not formed and lost on that last expulsion of breath before he leapt over the desk and drove into her with both fists.

Morgan wondered, not for the first time during this case, what the hell he was doing.  
He stood in the now deserted headquarters of the Friends of Humanity, which resembled a top secret military bunker more than it did a political party's nerve centre. He moved from the grey walled lobby into a grey walled main room, gun drawn and leading him with expansive sweeps of his arm. His steps echoed on the hard cement floors. The stark, nondescript layout and design of the place gave him the creeps.  
"Anyone here?" He called tentatively, then followed up with a gruff, "This is the police."  
In reply his own voice echoed back, along with the soft striking of his boots against the floor. He ducked into a large office to the side of the main room, and walked towards the naked desk situated squat in the middle. This was the only carpeted room in the facility, he noted. It was free from any other furnishings, even a chair behind the desk. Instinct and a shrewd cynicism told him this was Creed's office. It reflected the feel and look of the man's office in the city.  
He holstered his gun and started going through the drawers in the desk. Almost all were empty, but there was one left, which informed him with its immobility, that it was locked. He knelt before the drawer, and fingered the little silver lock. Too many years hanging around teenage thieves and hoodlums told him this cheap little lock should be no problem to pick, if he ever paid attention to the masters at work. Sighing, he stood up and drew his gun, smiling to himself at the stupidity of the situation. Whatever was in there, was probably going to be damaged and rendered unusable and probably inadmissible in court, but what the hell. He literally had only one shot, which rung in his ears and bloomed from the barrel before piercing through the little silver lock, and proceeded to shred the top of the drawer it protected.  
He knelt down again, and gunpowder assaulted his nostrils and his eyes. The drawer contained two loose leafs of paper, both singed from the forced entry, but intact. Frowning, he lifted them up, treating them like evidence.   
Printed on the first sheet of paper, and taking up no more than three quarters of a page, was a brief history of the Friends of Humanity followed by an overview of the party's doctrine and future plans. It looked like a media release. It sounded like an angry explanation for something they had done, or were about to do. Morgan sat the sheet on the desks smooth metal surface, and studied the second page. In streaked black and white, someone had printed an aerial photograph of Xavier's mansion and the surrounding environs. He recognised it as an image you could download from a website specialising in satellite photography. Most people saw it as a novelty; _Gee Mabel, our house looks funny from outer space!_ But Morgan saw it as evidence of intent. Little red X's marked two points on the perimeter fence surrounding the school, beside each one a little notation which looked like electric current measurements. He identified them because his power bill showed similar language.  
It was clear that whoever cleaned out the Friends of Humanity HQ had done a thorough job of it. Morgan knew even as he placed the sheets of paper on the desk and hurried out of the office, that Creed had the advantage. He let a prayer slip past his mouth as he ran towards his car. 

The leader of Unit four assessed his options while he blew a huge pink bubble of gum. Radio static crackled over his ear piece, most likely through mutant interference. He wasn't quite sure what mutant interference was, but it sounded right, and in this situation, it was the only explanation that fit. He sat crouched behind an overturned steel table in the student cafeteria, the corners of his vision shimmering with flames from the nearby kitchen door. Aside from the pop and hiss of the fire, and the intermittent white noise from his ear piece , there was no sound.  
He decided it was best not to think about the fate that befell unit two and three. His troops were still alive, for the time being.   
"--Are---There--"  
The crackled fragmentary voice exploded into his ear piece and he almost jumped to the ceiling like a frightened kitten. He glanced back at the other men, who crouched beside him. They all heard it too. He pressed the piece to his ear and tried to concentrate on the voice, drone out the static. Whoever it was, they were transmitting on the secure frequencies. He hesitated, and when no trace of a human voice could be heard, he opened his mike with a press of a button. "Th--This is Unit 4 leader," He began in a rapid, low voice that belied his fear. He spat out the gum. "I repeat, this is Leader of unit 4. State you position."  
Static responded in the darkness. He listened hard for anything. It could have been an echo, or Unit One could have been transmitting a call for help. Unit One was assigned to protect Creed and a signal from them could only mean...  
"Unit Four?...Did you say---" The ear piece crackled to life again. "Can you say again..."  
"This is Unit 4 leader...I can hear you."  
"Thank god. Unit Two--Casualities-- mutant ambush..Still on the loose."  
Unit Leader #4 licked his lips. "State your name and location and I'll send some guys to get you."  
"Too risky Unit 4. There is no use in wasting more men. If we don't make it then at least you still have a chance to kill the muties..."  
Unit Four leader saw sense in the other man's plan. "Be advised our location is the cafeteria."  
"Ok. Gotcha"  
The men of unit four heard the approach of the smaller group before they saw their heavy boots. Unit Leader Four still crouched low and plastered himself to the upturned table.   
"Unit Four?"  
Team Leader Four stood up, feeling like a coward, and watched as a black clad figure approached, boots falling heavily on the polished beige floor. The other man held his gun pointed upwards, a gesture of faith or good intentions, he didn't know which.  
"Where did you see the mutants last?" He said by way of greeting, his voice startling him.  
"Level two and three," The other man said, his voice muffled by the balaclava he wore. "A group of them. Where are the women?"  
Leader Four looked at his men huddled beside him and then narrowed his eyes to a spot over the new man's shoulders. "From what we understand, Mr. Creed and Unit One have captured them."  
A pause. The man made no move towards them. His gun still pointed upwards. "Where are they now?"  
"Last known location was Xavier's office. But the radio links aren't so good...."  
The words had barely left his lips when a crimson beam hit him like a semi truck, punched through his stomach, and exited in a fine red mist from his back. His team were too stunned to move, huddled together behind the overturned table. Cyclops ripped off the shredded balaclava as Sebastien and Chamber rounded the corner, dressed in the same black uniforms. Chamber kicked the table away and stood before the cowering young men, pinning each one with a hate filled glare."What should we do with them?" He asked Cyclops without turning.  
Cyclops strode over to the limp body of Unit Leader Four, checked his pulse, and took his ear piece. "Their leader here needs medical attention. Personally I don't care if he bleeds to death. And each one of them will suffer the same fate if they decide to do something stupid." His visor pulsed with crimson energy as he spoke, walking towards the young men with purpose. "Leave now, take your leader with you, and we won't kill you."  
Chamber glanced sideways at Cyclops. "But there's nothing stopping us from attacking them when their backs are turned."  
Sebastien joined them. "But they would've killed you. I wouldn't let them live."  
Cyclops grabbed the closest young man and pulled him to his feet, teeth clenched. "I'm only going to tell you this once. _Run_. Don't test my patience. Take your leader and get out."  
There was a split second of indecision. The young man in Cyclops' grasp looked at his team mates. "B---But the mission...."  
"Your mission will fail. How many times do I have to tell you? GET OUT." Cyclops shouted words made him flinch. Cyclops let him go, thrusting him violently towards the others.   
This time there was no indecision. Unit Four gathered the injured leader and scurried out, abandoning their weapons. Cyclops held a restraining hand on Chamber's shoulder as he watched them leave. "We don't have time," He said softly. "We need to find Jean and Ororo."  
Chamber hesitated, tried to shrug Cyclops' hand off. "We had the chance to kill them--"  
"And it would have solved nothing."  
Chamber turned to look at Cyclops. "Do you really believe that?"  
"This is they way we were taught." Cyclops' jaw muscles bulged. He was daring Chamber to challenge Charles Xavier's beliefs. Those lessons Charles taught him as a teenager, he followed dogmatically.   
"Logan wouldn't have just let them go."  
Cyclops flinched. "Well I'm not Logan, and he's not a part of this team. Not anymore." 


	11. Chapter Eleven

**ELEVEN**

Bobby grabbed Sam's wrists and pulled him close. "Look, calm down," He hissed, then cast a glance back at the younger students. "You're scaring the kids."

Sam just looked blankly, wide eyed, at Bobby. His face was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and his teeth were gnashing. "Ah--Ah have to get outta here, Bobby..."

Bobby's grip tightened. "We have to stay down here, Sam, you know that. Just breathe and everything will be all right."

Sam pulled free of Bobby's grasp and stepped back a few paces. "You don't get it, do you? We are never gonna get outta here!"

"Sam..." Bobby reached for his friend, but it was too late. The air around them ripped with the sound of Sam's power being unleashed, and in seconds the boy was airborne, and hurtling towards the ceiling at full force. Bobby ran the length of the danger room and called Sam's name again, but his voice was lost in the explosion that followed. Sam had connected with one of the large cylindrical water tanks. Kids screamed as Sam plummeted to the ground, forced back by a hard stream of water flowing from a large crack in the tank. Sam's body make a sickening sound when it connected with the ground.

Bobby knelt by Sam's side and felt for a pulse. He was alive, but unconscious. The kids milled about them, watching the steady, wide arc of water as it flowed from the crack in the water tank's skin. Bobby was already drenched and the water was puddling around them. He glanced up at the wide crack in the water tank, and then to the scared faces around him.

"We're OK," He said calmly, "Its only a little leak. We just have to sit tight and wait for them to come get us."

He walked over to the elevator doors and inspected them. There was no way they could get through without some serious firepower, or Wolverine's claws. And they were sealed shut, which meant, with the water tank broken, they were airtight as well. He did some quick calculations. The tank was leaking pretty rapidly, and it had a capacity of thousands of gallons of water. They were locked inside an enclosed space with no possible outlet for the water to escape.

"Get to the other end of the Danger room, away from the water!" He crossed back to them and began to pull Sam away from the water tank. 

The sound of the water spewing forth was relentless and loud. It seemed as if the crack was widening as more water wanted to flow out. They didn't have much longer and the water would reach them, and then the water level would begin to rise. 

He hoped to God that the X-men would reach them before they all drowned.

Morgan clicked on his cell phone and punched in a number furiously. A recorded voice informed him that his call could not be placed due to problems with the cellular network. He clenched his teeth and glanced at the display. No signal. He threw the phone onto the empty passenger seat and took hold of the steering wheel with both hands, pushing the car to it's limits. His mind raced to calculate how much time Creed would have had to get to the mansion from the Friends of Humanity HQ. He swore and beat his hand on the dashboard. They could all be dead right now.

Trees grew thinner along the wide, straight road and he could see the rooftop of Xavier's school for gifted youngsters. Smoke belched from the bell tower and from several places on the roof itself. He swore again and threw the car onto the other side of the road as he approached the ornate wrought iron gates.

Jean pulled herself up on her elbows, hair spilling down into her bleeding face. Glass cut into her forearms as she crawled forward. Creed was also injured and dazed from the assault. He groaned and rolled onto his back, his hand just inches away from Jean's ankle. Two commandos cocked their guns as she advanced, laser sights dancing on her forehead.

"Please..." She moaned. She spat blood on the ground and looked up through her veiled red hair. "Don't."

Creed was coming to. One of the Commados rushed to his side, pulling him up by the elbows. He staggered to his feet, and Jean did the same, her eyes never leaving him. Creed stood there swaying for a few seconds, his eyes fluttering and unfocused. He was frowning at her like a confused child.

"Kill them," He croaked. "Kill them all, and let her die last." He was standing on his own two feet. He shoved the commando away and walked over to Jean. His smiled nailed her to the spot. She took a shuddering breath as he reached a hand to her face and stroked her jaw. "It's true what they say about red heads being as fiery as your hair colour," He sneered. "You put up a ballsy performance in there. You actually believed for a second that you could hold off the inevitable with your little mind reading parlour trick."

Jean smacked his hand away and returned his glare.  Of course he was right. She couldn't hold off the inevitable. At least not alone.

"So, Ms Grey, where did you hide your little freaks? Our intelligence tells us that there are at least thirty mutant children on campus at any one time, yet when we arrive we only find you, the weather witch, your darling fiance and two young men."

"They are not on the grounds. You will not touch them."

Creed waved a finger at her, then pressed his finger to his pursed lips. "You didn't have enough time to get them off the grounds, that much is certain. You hid them somewhere inside the mansion."

Jean shook her head. "You will not touch them." Her voice was tempered steel. "They are safe."

He shrugged. "Not that it matters. The mansion will burn to the ground, and if you have hidden them in the lower levels as I suspect you have, All we need to do is clear away the debris and open it up like a giant can of soup. Keep your secrets, Dr. Grey. There is nothing left for you to hide."

"Charles. We're landing soon."

Xavier felt Hank's hand on his arm and opened his eyes. His vision still swam and he felt groggy. He blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Thankyou, Hank."

"How are you feeling now?"

Xavier sighed. "I have been better."

Hank frowned at him with concern. "Has this ever happened before? The blackouts?"

"Not to this extent. I feel momentarily drained after taking control of someone's mind. Sometimes this can last for a few hours, but because this man's will was so strong...It took a great deal of power to overcome. I have never encountered a human with such defenses."

"Could Creed have coached him?"

Another sigh. "It's entirely likely. And for whatever reason, my powers are not as they should be. I have been unable to contact Jean for hours. I think that level of psychic power severs any telepathic bonds..."

There was a brief silence filled by the humming of the BlackBird's engines. Hank cleared his throat. "I tried calling ahead to the mansion, and there was no reply. All the extensions are out of service according to the phone company."

Xavier sat up and frowned. "Did you try Jeans cell phone?"

Hank nodded. "Her voicemail each time. Do you think something could be wrong, Charles?"

Charles frowned. "I don't know. I can only guess, like you."

Hank nodded and stood. "Pilot?"

The pilot's voice crackled from a speaker above them "Dr. McCoy?"

"We need to change our course. Head for Westchester."

"But sir, I need to radio it in and get clearance..."

McCoy walked up to the cockpit and opened the door separating them. He pointed to the control panel. "Make it happen. Turn the Bird around."

"I'll have to call in an emergency landing, you understand...The fire brigade will be called..."

McCoy stopped to consider. "Do that."

The worried pilot did as he was told, and McCoy exited the cockpit. Xavier was staring out of his window as he approached. "I have spent the better part of a month fending off these legal challenges to my school, Hank," He said, quietly. McCoy could hardly hear him over the roar of the engines. Xavier looked up at him and there was real fear in his eyes. "And while I was there, I got lost in the process. I left the school to fight for it, not to let it be destroyed in my absence." 

The danger room was now half full of water.

Bobby treaded water and clutched onto Sam's unconscious body. His arms ached and his legs screamed at him to just give up. He could hear rapid breathing all around him, coming from the frightened kids. He had tried flash freezing the water when it was at a more manageable level, but that was only a quick fix, because the water level continued rising, ever more rapidly, as the hole in the tank got bigger and bigger. It had occurred to him to try freezing the water tank completely, cocoon it in a shell of ice, or even freeze the water inside solid. The last option he considered potentially deadly, because the sheer weight of the block of ice would have crushed them all anyway. He looked up to the ceiling and tried to calculate the time it would take for them to reach it. Sam was like a dead weight in his arms and he wasn't sure if Sam was OK or not. 

"If you get tired, go to the wall and grab hold of something," Bobby instructed the students. "Just keep breathing, everything will be fine." Of course, in his minds eye he was assembling the worst case scenario; they would all die floating face down in the Danger Room while the Mansion burned above. Something about this scenario struck him as funny. He let a smile flutter on his lips and knew finally, what the life of an X-man is like.

Blood ran down Jean Grey's temple and rolled off her chin as Creed wrenched a handful of her hair and pulled her off her feet. She clutched at his wrists, digging her nails into the tender flesh there, but his grip held firm. She was being dragged back into the mansion with him. Bits of debris bit under her skin as her lower body travelled over the glass. She realized that she had no hope of surviving if he got her back in there. Storm was still down for the count, she knew that much. The mansion was still burning. Scott and the others could have already been killed. Creed was so close to victory even she could smell it. Her eyes watered and her vision swam, and she realized that she was crying. The fight had gone out of her just like the big grand old house around them. It wouldn't take much time now. Creed Deposited her back into the comfortable leather chair behind Charles' desk. He unraveled his fingers from her hair, pulling a fistful of hair with it. She looked up and saw him take a gun from the man closest to him. He checked that it was loaded, even if it was not necessary to do so. He was just putting on a show now. He had all the time in the world.

Jean had been in similar situations before; close calls, near misses, finding herself on the brink of death. But through all of those times she had her powers to help her, to save her and guide her. Now all she had was a headache and the feeling in her gut that she was going to die.

The next moment seemed to stretch on forever. Creed pulled the trigger and Jean screamed burying her face in her hands But for some reason the bullet did not strike her. She felt a wave of heat at that moment, so close it felt like it was going to burn through her clothes. A familiar sound roared in her ears and then she heard shouting, and more gunfire. When she lifted her head, Creed was nowhere to be seen, and standing in the shattered doorway, his visor smoking from the devastating optic blast he had released, was Scott. The air quivered with energy in the aftermath of his attack on Creed. 

"Jean!" The sound of Scott's relief was making his voice tremble. Not his usual authoritative boom. He was at her side in an instant. "Are you OK?"

She nodded as tears slid down her cheeks. Then her eyes widened. "Ororo! She was shot..."

Scott turned to follow Jean's gaze. He heard her gasp before he saw the pool of blood where Ororo's body had been laying. Chamber and Sebastien entered at that point, both red faced and sweaty. Sebastien pointed to the hallway. "The soldiers took her! We tried to follow them but the smoke was too thick."

Jean turned to Scott. Her face was ashen and streaked with blood, and her eyes blazed fury. "Scott, we have to find her."

He released his grip on Jean to stride over to Creed's unconscious body, which was propelled out of the gaping window from the force of Scott's attack. He peered into the darkness, the lawn now like a blanket of stars as the shards of glass caught the light from the fires. The sight would have been beautiful if it was any other time. He turned back and shook his head. "Creed's gone too. The soldiers must've picked him up. There's no way he could have walked away from that."

"No," Jean replied. "He could walk away from it if he really wanted to."


	12. Chapter Twelve

**TWELVE**

Morgan felt the heat from the blaze as he drew closer. The fire burned deep and orange and ate more of the beautiful old mansion with each second. Parts of the roof had already collapsed. Windows were exploding everywhere. He hoped to God that there was no one still inside, but the rational part of his mind told him that there would be. He shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the ground. His white shirt was covered in spreading blooms of sweat under his arms and over his chest and back. He couldn't remember the last time his heart was beating this fast. 

Keeping to the relative cover of the hedges, he moved as fast as he could. Up ahead he saw a lone figure watching the blaze, a little too close to be a casual observer. Morgan slowed and clicked the safety off his Glock. The figure hardly seemed to notice him. Clad in black and holding an automatic weapon in his hands. Barely more than a kid. Morgan aimed his weapon and stepped away from the hedge. "Drop the weapon," He called out. The boy started, and his body tensed. Morgan hoped the kid wouldn't turn and let of a burst from the gun in his hands. He hated machine guns. "I said drop the weapon." 

The boy turned, still holding the gun but not pointing it at Morgan. The light from the fire danced across his face, which was pale and streaked with soot. His blonde hair was cropped military short. There was no mistaking it. Morgan was staring at Jeremiah Blacksmith. "Jeremiah." He said the boy's name softly, and the boy's baby face rippled in a frown. "Jeremiah, drop the gun."

The boy met Morgan's eyes and shrugged. "Why should I?"

There was a pause. "Don't make me shoot you, boy."

"Go ahead. I don't want to live." Morgan could see the boy was crying. 

Morgan tried another tack. "Where is Creed?"

"Somewhere inside, I think. The others ran, deserted us, but I'm going to stay until he comes back." His voice was a monotone and his face was twisted in anger. "The muties scared them away."

Morgan glanced up at the mansion, then his eyes settled back on Jeremiah. He didn't have time. One of them needed to make a move. 

Jeremiah spoke again. "How did you know my name?"

"I've been looking for you. I'm a detective with the NYPD."

"Am I in a lot of trouble?"

Morgan nodded slowly. "I'm not going to ask you again. Drop the weapon."

Jeremiah lifted the gun slightly, and Morgan's finger tensed on the trigger. Jeremiah regarded the gun for a few moments, as if deciding what to do with it, asking it a question. He looked up again with wide glistening eyes, and slowly raised the tip until it entered his open mouth. Morgan took a step forward but the warning in the boy's sudden movement stopped him. He reached out a hand to Jeremiah, trying to establish eye contact. Tears slid in fat droplets from Jeremiah's raised chin, and his trigger finger was trembling. "Don't do this..." Morgan said softly. "You know you don't wanna do this."

Jeremiah closed his eyes. Morgan had no choice. He aimed for the boy's shoulder, hoping that he could squeeze the trigger before Jeremiah. Morgan squeezed his eyes shut and a gunshot rang out in the already crackling atmosphere. Morgan heard the boy's body hit the ground and open his eyes, sweat sliding down his forehead. 

But Jeremiah wasn't there. In his place stood short a man with jet-black hair and blazing blue eyes that bore into his. The man was baring his teeth and Morgan could hear a low growl coming from deep inside his throat. Morgan's bullet had hit its mark, all right. Square in the shorter man's shoulder. Morgan held the gun firm, this time aiming for the head. "What did you do to the kid?"

The other man cocked his head to the side. His body hunched and his head down, he looked like a feral dog. "What were you about to do?"

Morgan hesitated. He had all but dismissed the feral man as a vagrant who had wandered onto school grounds, and he was willing to shoot him again if he needed to, but the way the other man spoke gave him reason to think otherwise. "This kid is mixed up with the Friends of Humanity. He was about to kill himself."

"So you were going to shoot him?"

"If I had to." Morgan could see Jeremiah lying on the ground behind the feral. He was unconscious. "I don't have time for this. I don't have time for _you_."

The feral straightened. He was frowning now, all malice faded from his face. Like he was trying to see right into Morgan. "You're a cop."

Morgan nodded. "Detective Vic Morgan. NYPD." 

"You know what this place is, what's going on here?"

Morgan nodded again. He didn't lower the gun. "I'm here to find Graydon Creed."

"Then we both have no time. Either drop the gun and follow me or stay out here and baby-sit the kid. Creed's in the upper levels."

A quick glance at the burning building told Morgan that to walk right in would be madness. The whole structure was likely to collapse in on itself as the fire ate away at the ground level, inch by inch. He holstered his gun and nodded. "Lead the way."

Bobby Drake knew that his time had run out. The kids with him, entrusted to his care as he saw it, were going to drown underneath their school, and everyone would know he failed. Sam had regained consciousness just before the water level rose that final few inches. Bobby's legs were screaming at him after supporting Sam's weight for almost half an hour. Now his lungs were burning and it felt like his chest was going to implode. A few of the younger kids were struggling seriously now, and he would swim over to them and support them for a while until they calmed down. He looked up at the impregnable ceiling of the danger room, an eight-inch thick barrier of concrete and steel that would eventually serve as the lid of his very tomb. 

Sam grabbed his arm suddenly and pointed. One of the younger boys, whose name was Curtis, was sinking quickly, his body slack and motionless except for his flailing arms. Bobby considered his options: Either exert that last precious amount of energy and swim after the boy, or let the boy fall and wait for himself to suffer a similar fate.

The question was academic. Bobby motioned for Sam to stay with the other kids and dove down with two powerful kicks, his legs protesting at this new torture. Sam could feel his head buzzing with dizziness, and his limbs felt unusually light as he reached Curtis' slowly falling body, and scooped the boy up in his arms. His vision was shimmering and it looked as if black fingers were clawing at his eyes. He realized that his pulse was pounding behind his eyeballs. He was not going to make it. In fact he could see the other kids were slowly falling too, as each one lost consciousness. Bobby kicked as hard as he could but his chest was burning, his body heaving, and  he wanted so badly to yawn, to take huge gulping breaths of air. The panic in him subsided as blood began to drift out in a fine mist from his nose, and he dropped Curtis' prone body. The floor was fast approaching and Bobby was surrendering himself to it, offering himself to it, welcoming it. 

He watched in absolute calm as he saw a shard of light pierce through the ceiling, and that shard of light became a flood. The muted sounds of rending metal could be heard. It sounded like whales singing.

The walls around him looked as though they were made of rubber, bending ever so slightly, as his body was lifted back up, up and towards the flare of light. His body broke the surface and warm, exquisite smoke filled air rushed into his lungs like an old friend embracing him. He was suspended in mid air, as were the other students, and he couldn't quite comprehend what he was seeing. His savior. A man in a flowing dark jacket over a crisp white uniform. Regal, iron colored hair and blazing eyes. Bobby said the name in a croak, and looked at Charles Xavier, who was waiting in the elevator nearby.

"Magneto."

Morgan and Logan charged up the stairs to the bell tower. Logan took the lead, two steps at a time. They stopped abruptly in front of a wood paneled door, and Logan crouched down, his body rigid and unmoving. He sniffed the air and pointed at the door. "He's on the roof. Probably about eight of his boys with him." He paused and sniffed again, a scowl spreading on his face. "He has Ororo, too."

"One of your people?"

Logan nodded. "One of the teachers here. I can smell her blood."

Morgan unclipped his holster. "There's nowhere for them to hide up there."

"They're probably waiting for a chopper. The roof has a landing pad."

Morgan wondered what sort of school, even a school for mutants, has a landing pad on it's roof. He knew that Xavier had spared no expense on the mansion and it's facilities, but he considered the landing pad a bit on the eccentric side. Logan seemed to read his mind and said, "This place is not what people think"

Morgan nodded, and told himself he'd push for a full explanation later. He contemplated the door in front of them, and what was waiting behind it. He didn't like the idea of charging onto the roof with guns blazing, but it didn't strike him as incredibly smart to try sneaking through the door undetected either. Creed would be smarter than that. Hell, he probably already knew that they were behind the door now, planning his downfall. 

Logan took a deep breath and looked at Morgan. "Alright. We break down the door, you following after me. You stay the hell behind me until I can either disarm them or they run outta ammo. You get a chance, go for Creed, get Ororo away from him the first chance you get." 

"You can't be serious--" Morgan stopped as he looked into Logan's eyes. They shone with determination. He meant to do this. Something told him to trust in what Logan was saying. He took his gun out of it's holster, checked it, then nodded. Logan stood up and clenched his fists. Three glinting steel claws slid from the back of his left hand, then his right, and he moved towards the door swiftly, waiting for Morgan to fall in behind. Morgan could hear the distant thumping of a chopper approaching, and it was matching the beat of his heart. The door gave a little groan as Logan shouldered it open, and then kicked it free of them. The door swung out hard and came clean off its hinges, crashing to the ground loudly. Morgan felt for sure that they were as good as dead, but he couldn't hear anything over the deep thumping of the helicopter. 

The first man to notice them was too slow to sound the alarm. Logan had already sunk his claws into the young man's belly before words could pass his lips. The young man's eye went wide, and Logan held him there, waiting for him to struggle, but no struggle came. Logan let the young man fall to the ground gently. Morgan could see Creed, his back to them, watching the approaching helicopter. He had dragged the unconscious Storm over to the ledge, his fist balled up in her shiny white hair. Logan noticed it too, and his body tensed. 

There was no time to make a move. One of the soldiers at Creed's side saw them approach, and shouted out word that the muties were behind them. Morgan gritted his teeth as a jarring barrage of gunfire assaulted them with brutal force. Logan's body jerked as bullets entered his flesh, but he stood his ground. Morgan stuck behind Logan with his weapon at the ready. What Logan just did was tantamount to suicide.

But still, he walked slowly towards the soldiers, who by now had realized that their weapons were useless against this new foe. They began to back away, some of them dropping their weapons and running, and Morgan would shoot them in the back of the knee to stop them. There was no telling how long they were subjected to the vicious attack. Morgan couldn't tell if just second had passed because it felt as if he was moving through tar. He couldn't keep up with the amount of activity in those frantic few moments. Shouts were being drowned out by gunfire as Logan moved swiftly through the small pack of young men. Morgan could see their numbers thinning. Logan moved forward and ran his claws into the belly of a young man, whose eyes went wide, as though he couldn't believe he was stupid enough to fall for that old trick. Men were yelling at each other to kill the muties, and Logan tore through each one of them, his eyes wild and his forehead drenched in sweat.

Morgan had now broken away from behind Logan, his gun aimed and sweeping in broad arcs of his arm in front of him. He was making his way towards Creed, who still had his back to the melee, the unconscious Storm draped over his shoulder. The chopper was fast approaching. Creed made a gesture to the pilot with an open palm, which Morgan took as a good sign. It meant he wasn't armed.

Then, Creed's voice boomed over the noise of the chopper and the battle behind him. "Logan!"

Morgan looked back to see Logan pick a young man up by the shirt front and throw him aside, his shoulders hunched low, claws scraping along the concrete, kicking up sparks. Creed turned around slowly and smiled as he slid a shiny pistol out of his jacket pocket. He pulled Storm close and held it to her head. "Take one step closer. I want you to give me a reason to blow this nigger bitches head off."

Logan stopped. He was fast, but not fast enough to stop a bullet at point blank range. Creed grinned. The chopper was almost ready to touch down. Smoke and debris flew around them fiercely. Morgan covered his eyes as tiny shards of glass assaulted his face. He was of no use to Logan if he couldn't see what the hell was happening. 

"You're going nowhere, Creed," Logan replied, his voice harsh and grating over the sound of the approaching chopper. "You're a coward who hides behind a woman to survive. You are no hero, no messiah. You ride on the backs of those stupid enough to believe in your causes. You are nothing, you hear me?"

Morgan heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Looks like the Calvary was about to arrive. He turned his back to the storm of debris and smoke and dust to see Cyclops emerge through the doorway, followed by Sebastien, Chamber and Jean Grey. Jean laid eyes on Creed and started towards him, and Morgan grabbed her by the shoulders. Jean struggled and Morgan held his grip. "We can't afford to make this worse, ma'am," Morgan said quietly. "Creed is likely to do something very stupid."

"But we can't just…" She broke into tears and Cyclops pulled his arms around her, releasing Morgan's grip.  Her red hair whipped around Cyclops' shoulder. "We can't let her go, Scott. It can't be like this."

Sebastien walked forward and watched the scene playing itself out before them. Creed had a vicious grip on Storm, and Logan was but a few feet away. One good lunge and he could retrieve Storm from Creed's grasp. Logan's frustration showed in the way he paced slowly back and forth, his eyes never leaving Creed. They were talking, but the sound didn't carry over to where he was standing. Sebastien could see the fear in creed. It was almost like a colour that wreathed itself around him, hidden in the smoke and dust. Sebastien concentrated on that feeling. Creed was scared. They could use that to their advantage…If only they knew what he was scared of.

Chamber grabbed Sebastien by the elbow and pulled him near. "I know what you're thinking," He said. "You're wonderin' if your powers will work on Creed as they do on mutants."

Sebastien frowned. "What are you talking about? What powers?"

Chamber paused, dragged him away from the others but not far enough to lose sight of Creed and Logan. "The things that have happened here since you arrived…the tension, the violence, all of it. I think you caused it."

Sebastien pulled his arm from Chamber's grasp. "I did not—"

"Now don't get offended. I never said you meant to do it. I think your powers manifested when you were attacked. I think you have the ability to heighten whatever underlying fear people have within them, and multiply it a hundred fold. It affects everyone around you. I think you're beginning to realize it yourself."

Sebastien could barely take all of this in. There was no time to question it. He weighed his options as he watched Logan and Creed. The helicopter was hovering above now, and Sebastien could hear sirens in the distance. Police, fire crews, they were heading to the mansion, but they would not reach them in time, that much was clear. Logan had moved no closer; it was simply too dangerous.

"Do you think I could direct it?" He asked Chamber.

Chamber shrugged. "I hadn't really considered it. Mutant abilities can be controlled and harnessed with time—"

"So in other words I will just have to wing it and hope to God it works?"

"Yeah."

Sebastien sighed and ran a nervous hand through is hair. How was he supposed to direct a power he didn't even know he had? The knot in his stomach tightened and he closed his eyes and concentrated. There must be something that he could do…. Creed hated mutants. He wanted to cleanse the earth of them. That much he knew. If you want to destroy something that must mean you are afraid of it. Why was Creed afraid? What triggered it?

Creed motioned for the men on the helicopter to lower the ladder. The smoke was making his eyes water, and the Negro was going to be a dead weight climbing the thing. He wanted to be free of her when they took off, but there was no way he could discard her yet. She was the key to his escape. If he dispatched her now, then Logan would be on him the second her body hit the ground. He watched as the ladder unfurled and hovered near his shoulder, hoisted the weather witch over his shoulder and kept his eyes on Logan, who had stopped pacing and was obviously trying to find an opportunity. All the mutant freaks needed was any opportunity. They wanted to take over, to destroy humanity…. To destroy the good American family with their impure genes…to destroy a child, a boy, who was subjected to years of cruelty at the hands of one mutant… 

Creed felt a wave of nausea hit him like a punch in the gut. What was happening? He hadn't thought about his father in years. Not since he saw him last. Then all at once, another flash of images hit him and he stumbled backwards. His father's face was burned into his eyelids, like a negative image, a parody of a ghost.

Chamber nodded to Sebastien. "Whatever you're doing, keep it up." 

Sebastien shut his eyes and tried to concentrate. The sheer energy needed to direct his power was draining him, making him dizzy. He'd found Creed's fear. It was like a black thorny thing in his mind's eye, and it was writhing at the ties that bound it. It wanted to be released. Sebastien had to help it along. Then the image of Creed's father, as Creed was seeing it, flashed at Sebastien like a solar flare. Sebastien opened his eyes and shouted across the rooftop to Creed "Your father is a mutant!"

Creed swung around to follow the voice. The men in the Copter were shouting at him to climb the ladder quickly, but he ignored them. "What did you say?" He said quietly at first, and then repeated the question loudly "WHAT DID YOU SAY???"

Sebastien walked forward. "Your father was a mutant. Your mother too. You have a mutant half brother and you are the only one who is _human_."

Creed shook his head. "I am the only one who is normal! The only pure human in that line of filth!"

Logan watched the exchange in astonishment. What was the kid doing? 

Creed's face was a mask of rage. The ladder spun wildly as it hung from the helicopter. The men in the copter were frantic now, trying to persuade Creed to escape while he still had the chance. The sirens were getting closer and parts of the mansion were collapsing. The situation was now officially critical.

"This crusade of yours," Sebastien continued, his eyes still closed. "It is your way of coping with the jealousy. That jealousy has eaten you up and almost swallowed your mind."

Creed was moving swiftly towards him now. The Negro was getting cumbersome on his shoulder. Logan stood in between him and Sebastien with his claws raised. "If you want to take my advice," Logan said, pointing to Creed with the tips of his claws. "And I sincerely hope for your sake that you do, you will get on that copter now and walk away. Leave Storm and go."

Creed hesitated. He was not a fool. He knew capture was immanent. He planted a foot on the first rung of the rope ladder and hoisted the Negro's weight along with him. He was still half facing Logan though, and his hand still clutched his gun. "Let me go if you want the black bitch to live," He yelled above the deafening roar of the chopper's blades. "Take my word, Logan. I climb this ladder and take her with me and I guarantee you her safety. She will be dropped off at the nearest safe spot away from here. You try anything funny, you leap of this building after me, I blow her head off."

Logan hesitated. His face was a mask of hate. He looked back at Cyclops and Jean, and wondered what was going through their minds. Jean was cleaving to Cyclops and weeping. If there were any chance Creed would keep his word, if there were any chance he could know that Storm would be OK…

"If you have any honour, you will keep your word." He yelled. Tears were forming in his eyes. "If you don't I will come after you and skin you alive."

Creed believed him. "You have made the right choice, mutant," He replied. "I am a man of my word." He began to climb the ladder quickly; amazed that Logan did not try to attack him. 

Chamber ran to Logan's side. "You can't just let him walk out of here, Logan!" He pleaded. "We have to do something!"

Logan just shook his head and wiped away his tears with the back of his rough, calloused hand. "There's nothing I could do. If I had pulled anything Creed would have killed her."

"He's going to kill her anyway." Sebastien said from behind them, as they watched the chopper ascend. "I can tell. He'll wait until he's clear of here first because Storm is his insurance policy."

In the air, Creed could see the blonde boy who tried to hijack his mind. He dumped the bitch on the floor and moved to the side window. His head still burned from the pressure of the boy's emotional assault. He smiled and cocked his pistol, then yelled at the pilot to hold this position for a few seconds longer. The pilot didn't like the idea of sticking around with the cops so close, but Creed pointed the gun at him and it shut him up. He aimed it squarely at the blonde boy's head and fired.

On the ground, Jean screamed and Cyclops ran towards Sebastien as he fell. Logan watched the Copter as it banked and began to peel away from the mansion at high speed. There was nothing he could do for Storm now….

Then, as if to answer his unspoken prayers, a metallic shriek ripped through the air. Logan turned around to see the helicopter rocking from side to side, like a fish caught in an invisible net. The copter's blades were shuddering. Creed leaned forward and spoke rapidly to the pilot, who was frantically trying to right the craft. A blue pulse surrounded the copter and the blades stopped altogether, but the copter was still in the air. Logan rushed forward, to the very edge of the rooftop, and watched as a lithe figure shrouded in the same blue energy ascended until he was face to face with Logan.

Magneto smiled. He wore his helmet and his eyes shone. "Leave this miserable piece of human trash to me." He said in a deep, commanding voice. Logan stepped back as Magneto landed on the rooftop and gestured with his hand. The helicopter was wrenched from its position and glided closer to the mansion. "Graydon Creed. You are behind this. Release the woman."

No answer came forth from the copter. Creed had picked Storm up again and had the gun pressed against her temple. Magneto laughed at his foolishness. "I will liquefy that bullet before it even leaves the chamber. Release the woman. I shall not ask you again."

Creed pulled the trigger but the chamber clicked empty. Again and again, the hollow click. He threw the gun aside and pulled open the door, then thrust the Negro out, headfirst. Storm went hurtling towards the earth. "Logan," Magneto said. "Get her."

Logan pitched himself off the building and streamlined his body to reach Storm in time. He grabbed her arm and curled his body around her. They were falling faster now, the ground rushing towards them. Logan felt a slight tug inside him as a magnetic pulse lifted him back up. They were deposited on the rooftop beside Magneto, and Jean rushed to their aide. Storm was still unconscious as Logan cradled her in his arms. Behind them, Cyclops and Chamber were attending to Sebastien.

"Now, what to do with you, mister Creed. You have been a most bothersome nuisance of late and you have destroyed everything Charles Xavier holds so dear. Tell me. How would you like to die?" He had risen up and he was staring into the cockpit. Creed was staring back, sneering at Magneto.

"I will not beg to any mutant."

"Nor should you have to. I offer you a choice, Mr. Creed. I think you'll find any begging would fall on deaf ears." Magneto sighed heavily and smiled. "You have two choices: One, I kill you here, right now, and you at least get some measure of celebrity having died for a cause you believe in. Or I let you live, detain you here, and the police will deal with you accordingly. You will go to court, go to prison and everyone will know you failed."

"Like you did?"

Magneto smiled. "I find that amusing Mister Creed. Really I do. Your American bravado is ugly and so is your hate."

It took only a gesture, and Creed's fate was sealed. Steel beams from the debris below were speared into the copter at ferocious speed. The copter reared up like it was going to fight, then it exploded in a fist of orange fire. Metal flew everywhere as the remains of the copter hurtled downwards. Magneto turned slowly in the air and began to drift towards the rooftop. Hank McCoy was wheeling Xavier through the broken door. "It's over, Charles," Magneto announced as his feet touched the concrete roof, just feet away from Xavier's wheelchair. Xavier looked stricken, his face drained of all colour. "Charles?"

Xavier wheeled himself to where Sebastien lay. The bullet had hit his side, and the wound was seeping blood. "Thank you, Erik." He said quietly, his eyes focusing on Sebastien. Xavier called Jean to his side, and she knelt beside Sebastien and inspected the wound. Chamber was holding Sebastien's hand. "We need to get him to an E.R. He's lost a lot of blood already," She said in a half whisper. "The Med Lab was flooded during the attack." She stood up and wiped her hands on her Jeans. She was staring at Magneto. "You helped us. You saved our kids. Why?"

Magneto smiled ever so slightly, his eyes shining. "Back in Cairo, when Charles and I were young men, I knew that our paths would lead us in different directions. We talked about the same ideals but we had different ways of pursuing them. Even then, I knew Charles Xavier was a great man. I told him then, I gave him my word, that if he needed help I would be there. All he had to do was ask."

"And he bust you outta prison." Logan's voice came from behind them. Storm was conscious and he was helping her walk. Logan frowned in Xavier's direction. Xavier held up a hand for patience, holding Logan's gaze. "Logan, things were complicated…my powers had temporarily left me. I could not fight this war alone."

Jean came around and began to support Storm's other side. Xavier inclined his head. "This is not the time to discuss it. I will explain my actions-in depth-to you all later. Right now, we need to attend the wounded."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**THIRTEEN**

The ambulances, police and fire crews entered the imposing gates of Xavier's School for the Gifted exactly three hours after the attack began. Graymalkin Lane was congested with cruisers, wagons, and TV vans for most of the night. It took the fire brigade almost an hour to get the blaze under control. The work was slow for the emergency workers, too: The mansion had been damaged so much on a structural level that they had to ascertain if it was safe for them to carry out a rescue operation. At least twenty young men affiliated with the Friends of Humanity were recovered; most suffering superficial injuries, but some did not survive the journey to hospital. The group of young students who were sealed in the lower levels was treated for shock at the scene, but apart from the odd scratch and bruise, they were fine. Henry McCoy took it upon himself to call and inform their parents wherever possible that their child was safe and well.

Charles Xavier was escorted through the ruins and helped into a waiting police car. Detective Morgan was at his side. Cameras flashed like strobe lights over them but neither man acknowledged them. They both had the pale, drawn out look of one who has endured hell on earth. 

Jean sat in the back of an ambulance with Storm, who was protesting the need for her to go to hospital when there was work to be done. Scott walked over and leaned on the inside of the open ambulance door. His clothes were torn and scorched, his hair sticking up at wild angles and his face was covered in cuts and tiny spot burns. "Magneto has taken Sebastien to hospital," He said. "Chamber went with him."

"Do you think Magneto will come back?" Jean asked. 

Scott shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Ororo pulled the blanket around her shoulders and looked up at Scott. "He saved me—He saved all of us."

"Logan made the leap off the rooftop," Scott replied softly. "He trusted Magneto enough to place his own life in his hands."

"A leap of faith." Jean said with a smile. 

Scott nodded. "He came through for us. He would have died saving you, Ororo."

Storm smiled too. 

That night, every evening edition ran with headlines screaming about Graydon Creed's attack on Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and his fiery demise. Many of the articles exclaimed breathlessly about the attack, most relying on third party information. There were rumors of Mutant terrorist Erik Magnus Lensherr's appearance, but none could establish a credible link between the attack and Magneto's escape from a high security prison. Authorities were still baffled as to how the Master of Magnetism could have escaped, leaving no outward signs of force. Security guards posted to the plastic prison cell recall nothing.

Henry McCoy, spokesperson for Xavier's, issued a short statement explaining that the school was attacked by Graydon Creed's friends of Humanity sect, that the school's main building and surrounding structures had suffered substantial damage, and the clean up and re building process would be a long and exhaustive one. He asked that the media respect headmaster Charles Xavier's wishes and let the staff and students rest and recover. Interviews would be granted in due time.

Sebastien's eyes fluttered open. He was staring into fluorescent light once again. He tried to sit up and his entire right side screamed in pain. A gentle hand forced him back down and pulled his blankets up. Sebastien turned his head and saw Chamber, dressed in his tattered black clothes still, a red bandana tight around the lower part of his face. His eyes shone with concern. "Sit back. They had to stitch you up."

Sebastien frowned. "Why? What happened?" 

"Creed. He shot you."

"Is everyone OK?"

"Yeah. The mansion is almost destroyed though. They almost leveled the place."

"You're kidding, right?"

Another voice answered him. Cultured, soft. "They will rebuild it. They always do."

Sebastien sat up a little to see Magneto standing at the foot of the bed. He was attired in a long overcoat and a hat slung low over his eyes. "They were more worried about losing you."

Sebastien smiled. "I thought you were in prison. Didn't I see that on the news?"

Magneto laughed softly. "I think my responsibility here has ended. I will tell the others you will live."

With that, he was gone. As he left, the fluorescent lights flickered. Chamber sat on a chair next to the bed, and watched Sebastien's face intently. "Creed is dead," He said quietly. "Xavier busted Magneto out of prison and Magneto killed Creed."

"Why did Magneto help us?"

Chamber shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Sebastien seemed to settle. His skin was pale and his lips were almost colourless from the loss of blood. With his blonde messy hair he looked every bit the street urchin he was when he first entered Xavier's. Bruises were blushing underneath his skin everywhere, some of them barely healed from the beating he received before Logan saved him. He was looking straight ahead now; the only sounds in the sterile white room were wafting in through the open door. Chamber shifted.

"You did good." Chamber said at last, and stood up to shrug out of his vinyl jacket. 

"How do you mean?"

Chamber draped his jacket over the back of the chair and sat down again. He laced his fingers in front of him and hung his head slightly. Wisps of light brown hair fell over his eyes. "You managed to take control of your power, directed it at an opponent to achieve a set goal. It's what Xavier teaches his kids every day."

Sebastien frowned. "I'm not another one of his lost causes. I didn't really know what a mutant was before I was delivered to that place. I had the concept of what a mutant was from what they were saying on the street, and what I saw on the news. But I had never met one, that I was aware. Now you tell me that I am a mutant too?" Sebastien held up his hands for a moment and let them drop to his sides. 

"It's not what I'm telling you. It's what you are. It was a big risk, me pushing you to use your power, because you weren't ready to accept the truth…"

"Hold on for a second…how many of you knew about me?" The volume of Sebastien's voice, its harsh edge, shocked Chamber. He was prepared for confusion, misunderstandings, denial…but a complete acceptance of the truth and anger that the knowledge was withheld? He was beginning to understand that it was pure Sebastien. Everything he said was a surprise. He was defiant and he was scared, that much was evident. "Dr. Grey knew about me, didn't she?" He demanded.

Chamber shrugged. Jean Grey probably did know about Sebastien. Chamber had considered it might have been a contentious point between her and Cyclops. It explained a lot.

"Maybe she had a hint. But with your sort of power, it would have been hard to perceive. Maybe they just hadn't come to the surface then. Jean is a telepath, but she's not in that habit of raiding someone else's consciousness."

Sebastien seemed disturbed. His eyebrows were knit and his lower lips stuck out, like he was a toddler facing a stern parent. Chamber gripped his shoulder and leaned forward. "But what's done is done and you can't change it. I can't change it. And to tell you the truth, I don't want to." Sebastien didn't respond. Not that Chamber expected him to. They were just words really. Nothing would penetrate the shock of such a life changing revelation. Finding out that one has mutant ability requires such a dramatic change in whom you are as a person that you tend to go through a grieving period for your humanity. Chamber's mourning period was longer than most; he lost half his face, his friends and most frightening of all, he lost the warmth of human contact.

Sebastien's arrival at Xavier's mansion caused a ripple in Chamber's existence. He was jolted by the dreams he'd been having, and the way he felt when he was around the boy. Sebastien had showed him what it was like to feel something again, even if it was that sick feeling in his stomach, warmth spreading in his belly and making him want to retch. He felt human again.

"Lately I've been having these dreams, mostly to do with water. Drowning, swimming, falling through it like it was all I could do. You were there all the time. I spoke to you while you were in the pool, and I could hear the water laughing. You were telling me to dive in and I just couldn't."

Sebastien watched as Chamber's eyes drifted away from him, and he could see tears slide down what was left of his cheeks. Sebastien sought Chamber's hand, caught it and gave it a squeeze. Chamber's hair fell over his troubled eyes, and he was breathing rapidly. "I couldn't get you out of my head. I tried, god I tried. But you were always there. Every time I turned around, there you were. Then strange things were happening, all of a sudden. The adults were fighting. Logan and Cyclops almost killed each other and Logan walked out of here. Everything was starting to fray around the edges. And there you are, just calmly passing through all of it with a concerned look on your face, never knowing you were the cause of it all. Then, I realized, just before Creed's troops made their move, I realized why I couldn't get you out of my head."

Sebastien squeezed his eyes shut, "Jono, you really do not want to be saying this…"

Chamber nodded. "I know. I know I shouldn't be saying this. But I have to tell you, because when Creed shot you I almost thought we'd lose you, and I was scared for the first time since coming to Xavier's. The X-men have averted the end of the universe so many times, and I've been right in the thick of it, and I was never as scared as when I saw you fall."

"No." Sebastien whispered. He squeezed Chamber's hand, and then let it go. "No, it's not going to happen. I can't allow myself to…" Sebastien stopped himself. Chamber was looking into his eyes as if he could see right through him. Of course he always did that. Chamber had what Sebastien liked to call scarecrow eyes. They had little depth and gave away nothing of the personality that gave them life. Chamber had honed everything into training to be an X-man, and he worshipped at Logan's feet. His body and mind were hardened by his condition. There wasn't much of a spark left in him. Something stirred Sebastien just then. He couldn't quite pinpoint it. He reached forward and stroked Chamber's cheek. "Well, then. Who'd have thought? Mister Starsmore has feelings."

Hank McCoy entered what was left of Xavier's office to find Cyclops sifting through the debris on the floor. McCoy shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled weakly at his old friend. Cyclops looked up and acknowledged Hank with a nod. "I did most of this damage, you know." He said as he brushed his hands of soot. "I shot a hole in that wall there."

Hank whistled. "Impressive."

Scott crouched down and retrieved a diploma that once hung on the wall he had destroyed. It was singed and torn around the edges but otherwise intact. "I was going to kill Logan. I hit him with everything I had. I felt this…white-hot rage. I wanted him dead. And now I can't recall why. Isn't that the damndest thing?" He laughed softly, without humour. His face was covered in soot and his hair was littered with bits of debris. He looked like hell. 

"I heard about your altercation with Logan. Jean told Charles about it." Hank knelt and picked up a smashed photo frame. He shook the shards of glass out of the wire frame and slipped the photo out. He held it up for Cyclops to see. It was a glossy picture of Xavier's first graduating class: Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Ororo Munroe and Hank McCoy. Charles Xavier was in from of them holding a plaque with the date engraved and all their names on it. The plaque was once affixed to the wall behind Xavier's desk. It was safe to assume it was liquefied by the force of Cyclops' optic blast. Hank sighed. He was wearing his uniform in that picture, his whole body covered in blue hair. He was The Beast. Hank paused and lowered the photograph to look at his reflection in the shards of glass at his feet. He was fleshy and normal looking, wearing an expensive suit. He looked like a normal human being except for his size. "I haven't seen this place in so long, and when I do come back some madman has almost destroyed it," He said quietly. "I had no idea how close we came to losing it."

"Charles would die before he let that happen." Cyclops replied quickly. "You know that."

"I lost that kind of passion a long time ago." Hank slipped the photo into his breast pocket. His face was drawn and tortured. His eyes were searching around the destroyed office. "I thought I could make a difference away from here, use my training in the human world, change their minds. Hell, I went to the extreme of making a hologram-inducing machine just to fit in, because my appearance would frighten people. And you know what? It was all for nothing…"

Cyclops picked his way through the debris, and hugged his friend. Hank smiled and took off his glasses. There were tears in his eyes. "Charles has never been angry at you for leaving, Hank. None of us has been. We all love you and we respected your decision even if we didn't agree with it." Cyclops patted Hanks big shoulder. "I'm glad you're here now. We have a lot of rebuilding to do."

"In more ways than one," Hank McCoy said, as he watched the pulsing throb of the emergency vehicles outside. 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**FOURTEEN**   
Victor Morgan wheeled Xavier through the large double doors that led to the morgue. Jean Grey was with them, dressed in a simple black pantsuit and with her red hair pulled up. On closer inspection one might notice the bruises and cuts on her face, and the bits of dried blood and broken glass in her hair. Morgan had only had time to run a comb through his hair. His suit was wrinkled and his walk was like that of someone who has run three simultaneous marathons.  
They had been summoned by the Medical Examiner to help identify some of the dead. Xavier was certain that none of his students were among them, but it was for Victor Morgan that they were really here. He had lost the kid he was chasing in the confusion of Creed's attack. Xavier knew that Morgan needed this closure, to know that he had done his job right.  
Dr. Lawrence Hanoi met them in his office. He was a thin man of Japanese decent, barely forty and with a pleasant, calm demeanor. "Professor Xavier, it is a pleasure. I've read almost every paper you've published on the advances of genetic research on mutation. Fascinating. I'd love to meet you for lunch sometimes to discuss your theories."  
Xavier shook the man's hand and smiled. "Of course. Take my card and call the school. I would enjoy that very much."  
Hanoi pocketed the card and turned to Jean with a broad smile. "Dr. Grey. It is good to see you again. The last time I think I laid eyes on you was when you were on ER roster. Our paths crossed quite a lot back then."  
Jean accepted his hug warmly and couldn't help but smile. She was flattered he even remembered her. Hanoi squinted at her face. It was clear he noticed the bruises and scrapes. "Awful business with your school, professor. I am sorry. I could only imagine what it was like."  
"We pulled through, Dr. Hanoi. The school is in bad shape but it can be rebuilt. I am glad none of my students were seriously hurt or killed."  
Hanoi picked up a manila folder and tucked it under his arm. "Well, that is what we are here to establish. None of Creed's followers who have surfaced yet are willing to give us positive Ids. We have been able to identify quite a few of them through fingerprints. Dental records are taking longer but we have had some hits so far. There are a few that have never been arrested prior to this and seem to have no records at all. As I understand it, Detective Morgan here is willing to give us what knowledge he has in this regard."  
"As much as I'm able," Morgan said, lifting his head for the first time since he entered Hanoi's office. "Those that I can't identify, I'm going to do my damndest to find something on them."  
Hanoi seemed heartened by this but his eyes spoke of his understanding. Some of them will slip through the cracks, and they would never find their parents, their loved ones. They would be buried in an unmarked grave and filed away like a bit of paperwork always is, and it will become one of millions of loose ends that police will never tie up. He opened the door and held out an inviting hand. "Follow me."  
They took an elevator into the second sub level. The elevator doors slid open onto a large cement room with stainless steel sinks on almost every wall. Moveable gurneys were placed evenly over the smooth cement floor. There were about ten on the floor at this moment, all occupied by sheet-covered corpses. Hanoi greeted the morgue assistants who all seemed to be in a constant state of motion. One of them took the manila folder from Hanoi and escorted them over to the nearest trolley. He peeled the sheet back and Morgan leaned in to get a better look. The kid was handsome, blonde and looked like he was sleeping. His skin was almost grey. Morgan shook his head no. "If you could get me a photo of these kids, I'll run them through whatever channels I can."   
Hanoi nodded. "Of course."  
They repeated this process three more times, Morgan's heart sinking a little more each time, not only because they weren't Jeremiah, but because they were all so young, and they all looked like sleeping children. Some has suffered severe burns before they died. Others had died of smoke inhalation. Creed had led them to their deaths and he was not around to pay for it.   
Then, the morgue assistant pulled back the sheet on the fourth victim. It hit him like a baseball bat to the face. Jeremiah Blacksmith. Jean put her hand on Morgan's shoulder as he moved closer, trying to will the kid alive again. Hanoi stayed at a respectful distance and looked to Xavier. Xavier cleared his throat. "This boy," He said softly. "His name is Jeremiah Blacksmith. He was one of the young men who invaded the mansion."  
Hanoi nodded and scribbled something on his notepad. He took a clipboard from the morgue assistant and bridged the gap between him and Morgan. "The boy died from internal injuries suffered when a section of a wall gave way. They recovered him at the scene. His vitals were very low and he did not regain consciousness on the way to the hospital." Hanoi's voice was soft, respectful. "We can run a check on his name and track down the parents…"  
Morgan leaned heavily on the trolley bearing the boy's body. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and shook his head. He was in another place, his eyes glazed over and his voice was broken when he spoke. "No, that won't be necessary, thank you. I know where they are."  
Hanoi nodded. "Any of the others?" He asked. "Do you recognize them at all?"  
Morgan shook his head slowly. Jean Grey was still right beside him. "No. No I don't. But most of them will have sheets as long as your arm, I'll bet. If you could get those photos to me, I will run them through and hopefully get some positive ID's."  
Xavier thanked Hanoi and Jean led Morgan to the elevator, her hand on his back, guiding him back to the land of the living. They weaved their way through the maze-like expanse of the hospital, Morgan looking like a man who had lost what he was looking for. He was upset with himself for feeling the way he did. He didn't know the kid. He was investigating a case and he was a suspect. When Morgan did find the boy, he had his gun drawn with every intention of blowing him away. The boy would have killed himself anyway, so why did this hurt so much?  
_Because_, Morgan told himself _I lost the case. _This case led to the events at Xavier's, and he could have seen the signs. He should have. But it all happened, and now people are dead. The weight of responsibility sunk his shoulder as they descended the stairs into the sunshine. He squinted up at the sun, and looked at Jean Grey with a weak smile. "So, what now?" He asked softly.   
"You found your victim alive. You were able to piece together what happened, and you charged into the school with guns blazing, when you didn't have to. Now, you just walk into the sunset and be content with your involvement here. Let us settle the rest."   
"I have to tell the kid's parents…"  
Xavier nodded his understanding. "Do what you feel you need to. Mrs. Blacksmith is a strong woman whose secrets have perhaps been the undoing of her family. She has lost her son now. Detective Morgan, it is not your place to take responsibility for that. Creed is to blame and no one else."  
Morgan nodded and stared into the middle distance. He looked pale against the blue sky and stark white clouds. "So it's true. You can read minds," He said lightly.   
Xavier said nothing. The sun was chasing away the remnants of the rain from the night before and mist was rising from the pavements. Morgan shoved his hands into his pockets and started off down the steps.   
"Would you like a ride, detective Morgan?" Jean Grey asked.  
He turned back and shook his head slowly. He was smiling slightly. "No, I think the walk will do me good." He said.

The carpet underneath Logan's boots squished as he walked. The whole place was waterlogged from the danger room flooding, the fire containment and the rain. Sunlight shone through the bare rafters where the rooftop used to be. The place looked like it was going to need a new coat of paint or three. He kicked some debris aside with one boot and shoved his hands into his pockets. He did a full three sixty-degree turn to take in all the destruction. Wet squelching behind him heralded Storm's approach. She had cleaned up a little, but he could tell she was still weak from her ordeal. Her eyes were full of surprise and despair.   
"The professor has returned," she said. "He wants to speak to us all."  
Logan nodded. He squinted up at the sun. "He has some explaining to do. He owes us that much."  
She sighed and took his arm. They were walking towards Xavier's office. "Are you being a little hard on the professor, Logan?"  
Logan inclined his head. His eyes were clouded with something, and Storm could not place it. It took him some time to answer. "I don't think it's unreasonable to want answers, 'Ro." He said slowly. "I think there have been some questionable actions taken over the past few days, and it's not like Charley to take risks like he has."  
Ororo couldn't help but agree with Logan's assessment of the situation. Charles had gone to great lengths to protect his students before, but never had he used his powers in such a way for that purpose. It went against everything the man taught them, and everything he believed in. Taking over Earl Landers' mind was the first of two bold moves he made. The second was freeing Magneto, which Ororo could not comprehend. She was puzzled why Magneto had been so intent on saving a school he had tried to destroy before.   
They entered the hollow shell of Xavier's office to find Cyclops and Jean sitting on overturned pieces of furniture. Xavier was talking in hushed tones to Hank, who stood beside his wheelchair. Jean smiled at them as the passed, and Logan noted that she was holding Cyclops' hand.   
Hank stepped forward and hugged Ororo. Logan shook his hand and pulled him into a bear hug. Hank almost lifted Logan off the ground. "It's good to see you both again!" Hank exclaimed. "It feels like it's been so long!"  
"It has been," Logan said. "But we all forgive you."  
Xavier cleared his throat and motioned for Ororo, Logan and Hank to take a seat. They searched around for anything solid and perched upon it. When everyone was settled, Xavier spoke. "Thank God you all survived this," He began. There was genuine emotion in his voice as he spoke. His eyes glistened as he looked at each mutant in turn. "You have all shown great courage during this time. You fought to save this school." He took a long breath and looked to Logan. "I know you all have questions for me."  
Logan nodded, arms crossed over his chest. "First thing's first: why did you take control of Earl Landers' mind? Why stoop to something so cowardly?"  
Xavier held Logan's hard gaze as he spoke. "I did what I thought was necessary. Earl Landers was brainwashed by Creed to make the allegations against the school in the first place. The committee was going to shut down the school, and I could not let that happen on the basis of such lies. I know what I did is contrary to everything I've taught my pupils, and I know I exposed the school to more scrutiny if my gambit had been revealed. But I had to calculate the risks and take that chance. While I know that none of you agree with my decision, you all need to understand that I did not make it lightly."  
Silence followed in the destroyed office. Ororo glanced at Jean, who was shaking her head with her eyes downcast. Clearly Jean was struggling with the justification. As a telepath, the temptation to make people think and feel whatever you want is enormous. Jean had always denied the urge to use her powers in such a way because Charles had set such a high example for her. Now Charles had fallen, had given in to temptation, her ideals were being questioned by the very man who helped shape them.  
Hank spoke next. "Obviously the decision was not an easy one. Charles discussed the possibility with me while the committee was still investigating. I could offer no viable alternative to what he had planned. Sometimes a situation can force us to act contrary to every ideal, every rule, and every belief that we hold dear. Charles did the very thing he despised because it would save his school. The end justified the means."  
Jean looked up and met Charles' eyes, but she spoke to hank. "Perhaps the X-men should not follow such dogmatic rules about the use of mutant powers," She stood up and gazed through the hole in Xavier's wall. "Because what you're essentially saying Hank is that during a battle, acting like our enemies is all right, as long as we prevail."  
"Jean." Xavier said quietly. "We have to sometimes make decisions that will lead to nothing but self hatred. And we question those decisions until the day we die. I will certainly not forgive myself for carrying out this act, but I will not be made to feel guilty for saving my school from one threat…"  
"…While we fought to save it from another?"  
Xavier inclined his head. "We all did what we had to at the time. And we now have to deal with the repercussions."  
Cyclops spread his hands as he stood up, obviously ready to take centre stage. "Look, why are we even having this conversation? We're blaming each other. Look at us! We did not place ourselves in these situations. They way you are all talking is like we had to expect it and roll with the punches!" He took a breath, looked at Jean, and smiled. His voice was softer when he continued. "We almost lost the whole thing. The committee started what Creed attempted to finish. Charles found himself in a corner and he had the option of giving up, letting them win, or taking any steps necessary to prevail. You all have to see each other standing here to know what he did was right. Think of how much worse it could have been."  
Silence settled amongst the small group of mutants and their teacher. Logan crossed the debris-strewn floor and put a large hand on Xavier's shoulder. Xavier patted his hand and gazed at the floor. There were no words needed. Xavier knew this was about as much understanding as he would get from Logan, and he was grateful for it. "We have so much work to do, my X-Men," He said softly. "The children we teach deserve that much. We all deserve it." 


	15. Epilouge

**EPILOGUE**

Winter was here. Ororo could feel it in her bones. The trees were almost shivering as their leaves were shed, like stick figures standing naked, fingers interlaced but totally separate from one another. Work on the mansion was still ongoing, but after a month, it was beginning to feel like home again. Ororo knew it would never feel the same. The corridors would always hold the ghosts of that horrible day for her, and she knew it was the same for the others as well.

Security had been upgraded in all parts of the mansion, and Cerebro was undergoing drastic modifications while Hank was back. The danger room was still out of commission, and it looked like it would be a few months yet before it was structurally sound enough to contain the student's training sessions.

An investigation by the FBI into The Friends of Humanity had uncovered a dogmatic organization that brainwashed its members and armed itself to the teeth, not unlike a terrorist group. The FBI did not go so far as to call the Friends of Humanity any such thing, but the implication was clear: any remaining cells of loyalists to Graydon Creed would be exposed and shut down. They would not allow something like this to happen again. Newspaper reports had likened it to the Waco disaster, which Hank McCoy had argued against in a column he penned for The New York Post:

_What happened at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters had no resemblance to the tragic events at __Waco__. A dangerous fringe group and not any federal body persecuted Xavier's school, although the series of committees that seemed to spring up in the days before the attack dripped with the same tar that stuck to the __Waco__ investigators. In the end, Creed was a victim of his own self righteous crusade….._

The school resumed the semester after a brief hiatus. Most of the students, however, would require ongoing counseling and support after their ordeal. Hank promised Ororo that he would stay, at least until the renovations were complete. He would not commit himself to become part of the team, at least, not yet. Ororo knew that Hank needed the school as much as it needed him, and his indecisiveness was borne out of some internal struggle. He was in love with the idea of being a crusader within the human world, and Ororo feared it would eventually come crashing down on him.

Ororo was outside, watching the frozen surface of the pond in a mesmerized state. She wore a long cape with grey fur edges which had a hood that Ororo wore over her head. It had been a gift from Logan, its origins unknown to her. She suspected the fur trimmings were in fact from a wolf, but she couldn't be sure. She sighed and a plume of mist rose from her mouth and nostrils. 

The sound of heavy boots trudging through snow behind her heralded Scott's arrival. "The professor asked if you're coming in," he asked.

She turned slightly and smiled. "Yes. I was just thinking. I must've got carried away."

Cyclops offered his arm and she linked hers with it. They began trudging back to the mansion slowly. "I know you hate goodbyes." He said carefully, almost as if he wasn't sure he wanted to say the words. 

She nodded. "Depends on how permanent they are. I knew, for instance, that when Hank said goodbye he was going to return. I dislike the goodbyes where you know you won't see the person for a very long time."

"Is that how you feel now?"

She nodded. "I feel that we've failed them, Scott."

Scott inclined his head towards her. "I think we helped them as much as we could."

Ororo raised an eyebrow at this but said nothing to disprove him. They walked in silence for a few seconds before Ororo spoke again. They were about to enter the main entrance to the refurbished school. The polished mahogany door was carved with the word _Omnia __Mutant__ur_. Translated from the Latin, it means "Everything Changes". She sighed and hesitated outside the doors. "I don't think we can change the world," she said with a faraway look in her eyes. "Perhaps I'm being cynical. When Charles enlisted me all those years ago, I called him foolish for having such lofty dreams."

Scott wasn't surprised that Ororo was in a mood like this. She was more inclined to be introspective and tended to fall into deep thought, sometimes to the point where she over thought things to an exaggerated degree. It was because of this that most of the students thought of Ororo as aloof or cold. She had a way of making it seem as though her thoughts were the only company she needed. Whenever they came out of a battle like this one, she tended to go to ground for a while afterwards. Xavier trained them all, and offered counseling after a grueling or emotionally draining mission. Ororo had always declined that help. "You were young. We all were, when we first came here. You came to believe in the professor, and his school." He said.

Ororo looked up at Scott and he could see real pain in her eyes. "Scott, I think I don't have that much faith in the professor now. What he did…Everything that has happened in the last few months…It had corroded my blind faith in him. I know we've all spoken about it, and I know what your view point is, and I respect that. I just don't know if I should be here anymore."

Scott was silent for what seemed an eternity. She couldn't tell what he was feeling because his visor covered his eyes. His mouth was set into a hard line and his hand still rested on the door. "Ororo, I wish I knew what to say."

"Your faith in him is unshakeable, Scott. Of course you can't understand it."

Scott touched her arm softly and then pulled her into a hug. She did not resist, and to her surprise, tears began to form a film over her eyes. She pushed her face into his shoulder and took a shuddering breath. "I can understand what it is like," He said softly into her hair. "I've recently had my faith in another person shaken. Everything that you held dear about that person is put under the microscope and you begin to wonder if you ever really knew this person to begin with."

Ororo knew that he was talking about Jean. After the dust settled, Jean moved out of their shared room and into an empty room on the second floor. It seemed as though Scott and Jean were avoiding the need to speak to each other, and the general feeling amongst everyone at the mansion was that the engagement was off. Ororo knew that Jean would eventually tell her what is going on, but for the moment Ororo was willing to let this one play out. After the conflict of the last few months, she did not want to partake in another war. "I haven't told anyone about this, Scott. Do you think I should tell Charles?"

Scott let a brief pause hang between them. He lowered his head. "Do you still want to be part of the team, part of this school?"

She nodded without hesitation. There had been moments where she'd doubted the sanity of her decision to join the team, but there was never a moment when she wanted to turn her back on them. Her faith in Xavier was shaken, and she didn't know if she could place a huge amount of trust in him again. But her belief that the X-men were needed, and that their causes are right and just, was never in question. 

"Then perhaps," Scott said, breath streaming from his mouth in a gust. "You need to work through whatever issues you have with him, because it's impossible to hide a secret in this place. Be honest. Let him know. You'll be surprised how understanding he'll be."

Ororo nodded and withdrew from Scott, wrapping her arms around her waist. "I suppose we should get this over with." He opened the door and they stepped inside. Immediately the warm air flooded over her face. She allowed Scott to help her out of her cape and they walked into the common room. 

Xavier looked up and smiled at them. He was in the centre of the room, with Logan and Jean behind him. Cyclops felt a stab of jealousy at the sight of Logan and Jean together. There was a handful of students lounging around them. Sebastien and Chamber sat on the large couch together, and Ororo noted that they were holding hands. 

"I really wish you could stay, both of you," Xavier said. "There is still so much we do not know about your powers, Sebastien. In all my years of research into the development of mutant abilities, I have never seen a case where a mutant could simply switch their power on or off as they so desired. It really is remarkable."

Ororo and Scott joined the rest of the team behind Xavier. 

"I'm really sorry. You've been great to me, all of you, but I think I need this right now." Sebastien squeezed Chamber's hand. Chamber looked at him and Xavier could feel real happiness well inside both young men. The desire to be with each other seemed to great a thing and they had both yielded to it.

"Very well. You know that there is always a safe place for you here?"

Chamber nodded. "Yes, and I thank you for it."

Sebastien stood up and walked over to Jean. He smiled at her and she smiled back. There were tears streaming down her cheeks. Like everything else she did in life, Ororo thought, Jean even cried with dignity. She never made a spectacle of herself. Jean pulled Sebastien into a hug, and held him at arms length. "Take good care of him, Chamber," She said quietly. "We didn't bring him this far to have him come back to us all broken." 

Chamber nodded. Logan stepped in between Jean and Sebastien. His big hand was touching Jean's ever so lightly, and Sebastien could see Jean was almost imperceptibly leaning against him. Logan pulled Sebastien into a rough hug. Sebastien looked at this man who saved him, who took him here, and blinking away tears, he said. "You'll never know how much I thank you." 

Logan nodded and touched his shoulders. "Don't mention it," He said gruffly. It was clear he was trying to keep the same detached mask he used all the time, but Sebastien could see the film of tears in Logan's eyes, almost as imperceptible as Jean leaning against him. But it was there, and Sebastien was thankful for it. "So, London. It's a big move. Are you ready for it?"

Sebastien looked back at Chamber. For the first time in his life he was sure about something. "I'm going to be fine. I have Jonathan to look after me."

Ororo was next. She tried to find the right words. Sebastien stood in front of her and smiled, hands in pockets. This boy had changed their whole world, for better of worse. He had pushed them all to their emotional limits without ever noticing that he was doing it. He also managed to find the courage to accept what he was, and use that newfound self awareness to defeat an enemy. He had almost died, twice, and Ororo was glad that he was still standing in front of her. She hadn't had that much contact with Sebastien since his arrival but she felt close to him. She took his hand in hers and sighed. "Chamber, come over here." She said. Chamber did as he was told and she took his hand in hers as well. "You two have found something that is wonderful. Someone who understands you completely and someone whom you can trust without having to think about it." She glanced up at Scott, who looked away quickly. "Be true to each other. Hold on to your love because it will open your mind to wonders. I wish you both every success and I sincerely hope that one day, your shared path will lead back to us."

Silence enveloped the room. Storm had said what everyone had been trying to articulate. She felt Scott squeeze her shoulder before Sebastien leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you."

"Our thoughts will be with you," Chamber said to Ororo. His eyes met hers and she felt his sincerity.

Xavier wheeled over and smiled up at the two young men. "The car is waiting," he said quietly. "Time to go."

Sebastien nodded and took hold of Chamber's hand. He looked back at the people that had filled his life for the last few days, these extraordinary human beings who helped him when they didn't really have to. Logan could have let him die in the streets, but he came across those boys attacking him, and he stopped them. He picked Sebastien up and took him to Xavier's because that's what heroes do.

Sebastien stopped, broke away from his contact with Chamber's hand, and looked at Logan. "You never asked," He said. "And I was afraid to tell you. But those boys were going to kill me not because I am a mutant. They could never have known that. But the one of the boys, Jeremiah, he and I used to be together….you know…."

Logan nodded. "You don't need to tell me this."

"But I do. Please, just so there are no secrets. Jeremiah could never accept himself for what he was, and he was always looking for something to blame for his own shortcomings. The Friends of Humanity picked up on his insecurities, and the next thing I knew, he was at a training camp. I didn't see him again for four months. When he returned, he was not Jeremiah anymore. I barely recognized him." Sebastien took a shuddering breath. "He wanted to erase the memory of me from his mind, and the only way to do that was to kill me. So he and his buddies from the Friends of Humanity were waiting outside my apartment building, and they chased me. Jeremiah looked like some kind of ghoul, with his head shaved and his eyes all hollow. Any part of him that was human was erased. If you hadn't have come along, they would have killed me."

"And if your mutant power had not surfaced at that moment," Jean said, as if the solution had hit her like a slap in the face. "They would have killed you, because Logan came in late to the situation. Detective Morgan would have been investigating a very different crime."

Sebastien nodded. "Now you know."

Chamber grabbed Sebastien's hand again and they headed towards the huge doors that led out of the mansion. "Come on, boyo," Chamber said. "Let's go and catch a plane."

The huge doors swung back into place with a heavy _thud_ which echoed throughout the hallways of Xavier's school for gifted youngsters.

Charles Xavier looked up at his X-men, and he could see each one was lost in their thoughts. Ororo had something to tell him, but he was not going to pry it out of her. Scott and Jean were experiencing tension in their relationship for the first time since they had gotten together, and Xavier could not help to assume that the air between jean and Logan had become more charged, heightened by a mere touch, or a look. He didn't need to be psychic to work out what had happened, and he was grateful that his powers were muted after the trial. 

Hank was beside Xavier and laid a hand on Xavier's shoulder. "They'll be back," he said, still watching the huge doors, as if hoping his words would be true. "I know from experience. You can't turn your back on this place."

Xavier smiled for the first time in what seemed like decades. He offered a silent prayer that Hank would agree to stay with them for longer, so that his X-men would once again be together as a whole team. He also knew there were some unresolved issues with Ororo, but all of that could wait. Jean came over and touched his shoulder lightly. Her eyes were full of love, admiration and apprehension all at once. Ororo wasn't the only one whose faith in him had been shaken, but with Jean, he knew he would always have support no matter what the circumstance. 

There were darker thoughts clouding Xavier's mind, reaching out like dark claws at the periphery of his optimism. Magneto was loose again, and he was responsible for that. He had neglected the growing animosity between Scott and Logan to the point where they very nearly killed each other. He had allowed his school to be attacked, his students assaulted, and the mansion almost destroyed. And while he could still smell the new coats of paint and polish, testament to the school's resurrection, he couldn't help but wonder when the next time would be. The school may burn, be taken hostage or completely destroyed, but Xavier held out hope that even if he sent these fine mutants into a final battle, when none of them were left standing, that somewhere, someone would take up their cause and fight again. Dreams could not be broken. 

"I can't promise that we will win, my X-men." He said softly as they approached his office. "I don't know if that's possible in this lifetime. Take heart in the little victories; find hope in what we achieve and not what we lose. There will always be people who will oppose us, some of them with violence. We all have to be prepared for that, because those who oppose us believe in their cause as much as we do ours. Creed almost managed to destroy us, because he believed what he was doing was right." 

He stopped speaking then, and looked up, his eyes roaming over each mutant in turn. "We are homo superior. We are mutants, but we are also human. Walk the line with care, X-men."

Jean knelt beside him and took hold of his hand. He looked into her eyes and felt tears rising. "Walk the line with care."

_There was nowhere to go but up. He knew that now. There was no place on earth that he could hide from the humans. He valued his freedom too much to make mistakes._

_He had risen above the clouds, feeling the cool air on his skin, feeling the wind ripple through his hair, and yet still he rose, until the sky turned dangerously purple and the air grew thinner. The protective pulse of energy around him guaranteed his air would not run out. At least not right away. As he rose further, and the air grew still, and the wind stopped, he felt a coldness unlike anything he'd ever felt before._

_As a child, he had reached for the sky with pink, stubby fingers and exclaimed at how pretty the stars were. He would tell his mama he was going to live in the stars one day, like some faraway god living in a paradise of velvet darkness. It was one of the only things that kept him sane when the Germans came and took them away. He held on to those memories, some of which he kept locked away in a secret place, because he knew he needed to hold onto those memories. He needed them to survive now. He needed them to remind him why he chose the path he now walked. He needed them to give him justice._

_He allowed himself to drift against the velvet blackness, his long coat moving only when his body did. It would have been nice to die out here, he thought. It would have been nice to give up and stop the fighting. He knew that Charles would say there was always hope, and sometimes he fancied he believed in his old friend's utopian vision of the future. But to be realistic, one must realize that no utopian society can flourish until the undesirable elements are eradicated. That is where Xavier and his paths divide. That is the fork that spears through their shared vision. And ultimately that is what makes Xavier weak; he did not have the stomach to do what was necessary. _

_In the distance, he noticed a huge object spinning slowly through the blackness. In the soundless environment, he could hear the creaks of the metal as if he had his ear pressed against it. He used his power to inspect the thing closer. It was a huge metal cylinder about the size of a warehouse or a large building. It consisted of two interlocking chambers and there were support beams jutting from all sides, evidence that the structure had been undergoing upgrades. But it was alone now, abandoned and drifting through space. It was the abandoned American/Chinese space station "Earth Station" which was given up after many problems between the nations about the direction and scope of the project. _

_Magneto smiled as he pulled the structure closer. It was in perfect condition, of course, and it had a constant nuclear energy source. _

_"Oh, this will do nicely," He said as he floated towards the nearest entry hatch. _

_He had found his new home._

_THE END_


End file.
